Mission: Be Mine
by FerryBerry
Summary: ON HIATUS. It's Valentine's Day, and Rachel has a plan. Unfortunately, so does everyone else.
1. Part 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day, even though I hate this holiday.

**Part 1**

As with most adventures in Rachel Berry's life, this one began with a plan. A very simple plan, really. Nothing too detailed, very basic, but still. She was actually rather proud of it, particularly the name, since it had the rare quality of rhyming. Usually she found herself at a loss in selecting a rhyming title and had to rely on other literary devices, like alliteration (such as in the case of finding Finn a job two years ago to support his baby, 'Funding Finn's Fatherdom'). They always left something wanting, in Rachel's opinion.

This one, however, was perfect: Woo Quinn Fabray on Valentine's Day.

Rachel was well aware that her success rate was…not good, to put it delicately. After all, the two had only struck up a friendship approximately one year ago, following some rather unfortunate circumstances involving Tic Tacs, mono, and (of course) Finn Hudson.

Quinn had fallen into a secret affair with Finn after a couple of especially fresh kisses, and after Santana cleverly outed them with the ultimate kissing disease, Rachel took it upon herself to personally deliver 'Get Well Soon' cards and a batch of her famous sugar cookies to each of her ailing teammates. Quinn was naturally annoyed by her presence at first, and especially by her persistent questioning of how the affair began, but when Rachel explained that the reason for Finn's minty breath was merely that she had once demanded he begin to use some sort of breath freshener if he expected to go anywhere near her mouth again, she…well, she cracked up.

The girl literally could not stop laughing, and thus the affair with Finn ended and a tentative alliance sprung up between the two girls, which gradually blossomed into what their relationship was now. Rachel could truly consider Quinn to be her one, only, and first best friend.

She knew this because the blonde had used the two words to coerce Rachel into not only attending Noah's annual Halloween party, but also into coordinating costumes. The brunette was still a little put-off that she had had to spend the entire evening getting her ass squeezed in her far-too revealing Catwoman suit, while Quinn had only had to put up with a few wolf whistles in her Supergirl costume. Though Rachel had to admit that Quinn's grin upon seeing her in the costume had made it…mostly worthwhile.

Anyway, they had only been friends for a year, and officially best friends for approximately three months and fifteen days. This was hardly the time to attempt to enter into a romance with Quinn, particularly when she had shown no particular interest in the little diva whatsoever. Or in women.

Not that Quinn had expressed much interest in men, either, in the time since they had become friends. She swiftly ended her affair with Finn after discovering her interest in kissing him sprouted from the fact that his breath wasn't as horrid as most other high school boys's, and she and Sam broke things off due to the cheating. Since then, Quinn had mainly been flying solo, though Rachel knew that all three of her previous flings had expressed interest in trying again. Even Noah, who at one point was of the opinion that he and Lauren were destined to be together, had been making passes at the blonde again.

In any case, Quinn hadn't shown any particular interest in anyone, but the only person she had plans with on Valentine's Day was one Rachel Berry. And she figured this had to give her some kind of leg up on the competition, even if the evening was only supposed to be a girl's night in with silly romance movies and excess boxes of Kleenex. Santana and Brittany, after all, claimed that this was the perfect in, and they were practically experts on matters like these.

The duo, while once skeptical of forming a friendship with 'Man Hands', had eventually accepted Rachel into the fold after discovering that she wasn't quite as vile as they once thought. However, spending an excessive amount of time with the perceptive pair led to the last thing Rachel had wanted—someone finding out about her infatuation with a certain blonde. At the time, she didn't even want to admit (or accept) her underlying feelings for Quinn to herself, and as a result, she came near to passing out when Santana confronted her about the issue.

Surprisingly enough, though, it turned out to be one of the best things that could've happened. Santana and Brittany were amazingly supportive, and though the Latina never stopped making cracks and jabs at the diva, Rachel had since learned to recognize when her insults were coming from a place of affection. The two became her closest confidants when it came to Quinn, helping her to accept her sexuality despite it making her a teen cliché, and offering her advice, such as in the case of this Valentine's Day.

Santana's theory was that Rachel was planted firmly in the friend zone, having never shown Quinn a shred of her (deeply buried) sexual appeal. Luckily for Rachel, this could serve as an advantage, if she played her cards right. Valentine's Day was unarguably the most romantic day of the year, and Quinn specifically wanted to spend it with _her_. Possibly grousing about boys, but that was beside the point. Little gestures of affection wouldn't be unwarranted, and if Quinn kept responding well, all Rachel had to do was keep stepping it up. If she didn't, Rachel could call it all off without doing any unnecessary damage to their friendship. This was all according to Santana, of course.

And, well, as insane as the idea seemed after…everything, Rachel trusted the Latina. On this, anyway. Never alone in her room with her closetful of argyle and shelves full of Barbra.

So she employed Step One: The Card.

"Rach, you're here early!" Quinn shot her a bright beam and dipped in for a one-armed hug before twisting to face her locker. Those sparkling hazel eyes flickered over to Rachel, who was still in a slight smile-and-hug induced coma. Honestly, Quinn's smiles were a health risk, and her hugs? God, the smell of Quinn was delectable. Rachel was convinced she was trying to give her a heart attack.

Especially when she caught sight of her outfit for the day. A red headband stood out in her blonde locks, which were wrung in curls past her shoulders today, bobbing with every graceful movement of her head. A dark grey sweater covered her pale arms, but opened in the front to reveal a moderately low cut scarlet dress that flared out a little at her knees and stopped, leaving those gorgeous, long, toned pale legs on display for everyone's viewing pleasure. She was also wearing strappy red heels, which Rachel thought was just slightly ridiculous considering the weather. Her toenails were very purple, and not from nail polish.

"I decided it would be prudent of me to put in some practice time in the auditorium this morning, considering our evening plans will render that idea impossible later on."

Rachel was barely aware of what she was saying; her eyes were glued to Quinn's exposed legs, every inch of pale skin making her throat dry up a little more. Fortunately, her exceptional eyesight allowed her to catch the movement of blonde hair whipping about as Quinn turned to face her, a bright grin suddenly on her face. Yes, she was most definitely trying to give her a heart attack.

"I can't wait for tonight," the blonde said delightedly. "Just you and me, girl's night in. It's been so long since we've done that, don't you think?"

"Yes, too long," Rachel agreed, though she distinctly remembered having a girl's night in on both Saturday and Sunday, just the two of them.

"Definitely." She closed her locker once she had all of the appropriate materials for her early morning AP Calculus class, and the brunette cleared her throat, fingering the card tucked close to her chest. Butterflies arose in her stomach almost instantly. This was it. If Quinn didn't like the card, or didn't take it well, all bets were off and the rest of her plans were over. She steeled herself. Now or never.

"I, um, got you this," Rachel mumbled. She was shocked at her own lack of eloquence. _It's a card, not a ring; speak up, woman!_ She cleared her throat again. "Happy Valentine's Day, Quinn," she said strongly, and handed it over with a nervous smile. _Better_.

"Oh, God, I didn't get you one," Quinn replied morosely, and Rachel shrugged. She really hadn't been expecting her to, but the blonde looked absolutely distraught about her oversight. "Um, I'll stop on the way home and get you one; I just hope they still have some in stock."

She smiled. "That's really not necessary. I—"

"No, it is. You got me one, I'm returning the favor," she retorted, and swiftly cut her off when she opened her mouth to protest. "Nope. I don't care what you say. I'm doing it."

Rachel rolled her eyes playfully and huffed out a mock exasperated 'fine', eliciting a smug smirk from the blonde, who carefully slit open the red envelope. Her name was in cursive on the front, where Rachel had (barely) suppressed the urge to draw a heart instead of a dot over the 'i.' She could still see the little curve where she had changed her mind at the last second.

Quinn's chuckle of delight disrupted her musings. The card was pretty simple: a smiling, blue-eyed teddy bear holding a heart (a simple heart card would've been too generic; this looked like she put in more effort, according to Brittany) and on the inside it just said 'Happy Valentine's Day.' Though Rachel had added, after a painstakingly long debate with Santana, the inscription 'to my beary (berry) best friend. Hugs, Rachel.' The Latina claimed the line was far too cheesy for anyone to fall for unless they were in kindergarten.

However, judging from the expression of utter jubilation on Quinn's face and in those sparkling eyes, Santana had been wrong this time. Rachel allowed herself to hope, smiling uncertainly.

"I love it," Quinn said simply, and pulled her into another one-armed hug, their binders and books squashed between them.

It wasn't as good as a real hug, but the brunette still found her eyes fluttering closed just at the sensation of being held by her best friend. Step One down, and a check in the well-received column.

Quinn pulled away with a grin and returned to her locker, instantly going to tape it up inside. Rachel felt her heart swell at the gesture, and she was about to offer to walk Quinn to class when a large, looming shadow fell over her. Only one person could make a shadow that big.

"Hey, Quinn, Rach," Finn said cheerfully.

"Finn," Quinn acknowledged, but her hazel eyes were pinpointed on the card, trying to center it perfectly.

Rachel glanced at the undeterred boy, his beady eyes focused on the blonde like she was…well, she had hoped to use a more sophisticated simile, but frankly the boy was looking at Quinn as though she was a ball and he was just begging for it to be thrown. Her smile dropped, along with her gaze, which abruptly went to the floor. Did the janitor mop at _all_ the previous night?

"Hello, Finn," she said quietly.

"Hey, listen, uh, do you think we could maybe, like, talk later?" Finn asked, ignoring the brunette's greeting entirely in favor of panting at the blonde. "There's something I kinda want to ask you."

Rachel leaned her back against the lockers, using her new vantage point to peer at each of them through her long lashes. Quinn had finally put the card where she wanted it, and she was pursing her lips at Finn, her brow knit the way it always did when she was genuinely puzzled about something. Finn looked like the ball had been tossed to another hand and he was just waiting for it to go airborne.

The bell shrieked and all three of them jumped.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Quinn said, her split-second decision made, Finn delighted and bounding off to class after the ball, and Rachel deflated against the lockers.

She was really going to talk to that Neanderthal? Didn't she get what he wanted? If she didn't, boy, was she in for an unpleasant surprise. Worse, if she did…that meant she wanted Finn back, too, and the rest of Rachel's plans would have to go completely unfulfilled. She wouldn't even have gotten to Step Two, and—

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. "Rach, you okay?"

She jumped as tingles shot down her arms with the contact, allowing her smile to come off genuine when she looked up into concerned hazel eyes.

"Yeah, fine."

Quinn smiled. "Come on, I'll walk you to class."

"But you're going to be late," she protested halfheartedly, even as the blonde linked their arms and led her down the hallway.

She shrugged. "I am, anyway."

They exchanged grins, one playful and the other bashful.

XXXXXX

Lunchtime fortunately brought about the opportunity for Step Two: The Gentleman.

Santana had argued the naming of this step vehemently (of course, she had argued with Rachel over naming the steps at all, or even having a step-by-step plan, but she especially hated this name), claiming it should be called something like 'Chivalry' or something to that effect. This way was apparently sexist, but luckily Brittany liked the name, and so the issue was dropped.

Which was definitely good, since this step was going even more splendidly than the first, if Rachel did say so herself. She had met Quinn outside her class as she did every day before lunch, only today she took her books for her, and the blonde was so distracted with complaining about the way teachers reverted to treating them like preschoolers on Valentine's Day that she hardly seemed to notice. Nor did she, apparently, when Rachel opened the cafeteria door for her, or picked up her lunch tray and carried it to the table for her, or pulled out her chair for her.

People accused Rachel of rambling quite often, but when Quinn got into a rant, she _got into_ a rant. It was almost as though she completely blacked out, and for however long she was talking, she had no idea of the events occurring around her. Which was just fantastic for Rachel, particularly when they sat across from an amused-looking Brittany and Santana, and the blonde suddenly noticed that she had somehow gotten to her seat without doing a thing.

Her smile turned even brighter and she thanked Rachel, who just shrugged modestly and gave a subtle nod to the others that things were going well. Santana look particularly pleased, while Brittany made a point of telling her she didn't ask anything.

"Okay, we can watch 'Funny Girl' _once_, but one thing I am absolutely not giving on is 'Sleepless in Seattle,'" Quinn was currently arguing. "It is the ultimate Valentine's Day movie."

"Oh, no doubt. Letting a year pass without viewing it is practically blasphemous," Rachel agreed, and the blonde brightened.

"See? This is why you are my best friend, and not Freddy Krueger over there," she replied, tossing a disgusted frown Santana's way.

The Latina held up her palms defensively. "Hey, Valentine's Day is the perfect slasher movie occasion. I don't know what y'all are thinking watching lame ass romance movies when you _could_ be getting a little action from a terrified girlfriend." She waggled her eyebrows, and Brittany giggled.

They didn't need to see the hand to know what it was doing, and the two exchanged a look of revulsion.

"And really, the one time I watched that thing cause Q said it was either that or she'd put my 'Saw' movie in the microwave, I did not see the appeal. There's, like, no action in that piece of shit."

Rachel squeaked indignantly at the description, but Quinn beat her to words. "Are you crazy? It's one of the best movies of all time! With parts like, 'Winter must be cold'—" Rachel joined her in mock-sobbing the lines here, and they grinned at each other "—'for those with no warm memories. We've already missed the spring.'"

Brittany and Santana stared at them, owl-eyed, as they leaned into each other and giggled helplessly, Quinn placing a hand on Rachel's knee beneath the table. Santana rolled her eyes and dipped a fry in ketchup.

"You fruity freaks really are perfect for each other," she muttered.

Before Rachel could recover enough to realize what the Latina had said and properly chastise her for coming so close to revealing the entire plan before it was completely underway, a shadow loomed over the table. The two girls slowly sobered and Rachel's smile instantly dropped when Quinn's hand left her knee and she spied Finn standing there with that too-eager, waiting for the ball to get dropped look on his face.

"Hey, guys. I mean, girls," he corrected, grinning sheepishly. "Uh, Quinn, do you think we could like talk now then?"

Quinn's brow knit before realization hit. "Oh! Uh, sure, I guess. I'll be right back."

She shot a puzzled frown at the rest of them, but Rachel was far too busy fiddling with her plastic fork's ends to offer the uncertain shrug the blonde was looking for. The other two did their best in place of her best friend, but Quinn still looked slightly dejected when she trailed after Finn.

XXXXXX

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Quinn asked in her sweet voice as they reached the empty hallway.

Finn admitted it. He was nervous. But he wanted to do this. He just couldn't get over Quinn, and he didn't think she gave them enough of a chance last year. He kind of let it go cause he still had feelings for Rachel, but now he knew for sure he had never been able to get over Quinn. She was totally the one, and what better day to tell her than Valentine's Day? It was really romantic.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and crept a little closer.

"So, okay. I had this whole speech thing prepared, but I think I'm just gonna come out with it," he said uncertainly, and Quinn nodded. He blew out a breath. "I wanna be with you."

Her eyes widened.

"I really realized over the last few months that letting you go was a mistake. We're like the perfect power couple, you know? I'm the quarterback and you…well, you used to be head cheerleader, but even though you're not on the squad anymore, you're still like the most popular girl in school and we, like, fit and stuff. And I really want to be with you." He smiled. "Only you."

Quinn was silent. He was sort of starting to take it as a bad sign when she blinked a lot and then kept opening and closing her mouth, and he could feel his smile start to slide into a pained frown. His stomach didn't feel too good, either.

"Uh, look, Finn," she said softly, and his bad feeling tripled. She only talked like that when she was trying to be really nice. "I really appreciate…your offer. Truly, I'm flattered that after all this time you still care for me, and I honestly still care for you." He grinned. "You're a great guy, Finn, and…someday you will meet a nice girl who loves you and only you, like you deserve. But I'm not that girl." The grin flipped upside down and she looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry."

And then she was gone, just like that. Finn blinked. This…sucked.

XXXXXX

"What did Frankenteen want?" Santana prompted as soon as Quinn was seated next to Rachel once more. She sounded a tad too interested, in the brunette's personal opinion, but she wasn't going to complain, as she wanted to hear this, too.

The blonde frowned uncomfortably. "Nothing."

"Seriously? He pulled you out into the hallway for 'nothing'? Bullshit."

Quinn huffed irritably, running a restless hand through her golden locks, a sure sign of her discomfort with the topic. Rachel instantly took notice and shot Santana a warning look, ignoring the tongue that was stuck out at her in favor of reaching to place her hand over the blonde's where it rested on the table between them. She turned her hand over and squeezed the brunette's, sending a small smile her way, but before Rachel could even attempt to make it full-blown, the bell rang and she was left to wonder what on earth happened in that hallway.

XXXXXX

Glee was the perfect outlet for Step Three: The Song.

As…unsubtle as it sounded, Step Three was actually rather covert, in Rachel's opinion. After endless hours of arguing and searching and researching and throwing things, she had found an excellent selection that could be construed as a message of platonic love, and it wasn't too specific, so Quinn could easily think she was singing to someone else. Rachel had attempted to point out that this would be a bad thing until Santana countered that it could bring out 'the jellies.' At which point they took a break because Brittany was craving PB&J.

She was humming the tune under her breath as they waited for Mr. Schuester to arrive, running through it in her head one more time and attempting to ignore the elation she felt at seeing Finn's downcast appearance. He looked like someone had stolen the ball now. Quinn had obviously been doing her best to ignore his mood as well, which had apparently gradually become easier as time went on, because she was currently doing a little humming herself as she played with Rachel's hair and twisted part of it into a complicated braid.

The brunette always melted when Quinn did this, feeling on the verge of purring at the pleasant sensation of those long, gentle fingers stroking through her locks. The blonde seemed to enjoy it just as much, as she was always humming when she did it. And always the same tune, Rachel noted. 'The Bird and the Worm' by Owl City, she thought.

No one was put off by the sight of the two of them like this anymore. It was commonplace in the glee club by now, and the only thing that ever disturbed anyone about it now was the way Quinn would practically burn them into the ground with her eyes if they interrupted her. They could talk to Rachel all they liked during these hair-playing sessions, but talking to Quinn was like repeatedly poking a sleeping dragon.

At the moment, however, Brittany and Santana were too busy whispering and giggling with each other behind them to bother speaking to them. Kurt and Blaine were occupied with talking to Mercedes and Artie; Tina and Mike were not so subtly sneaking longing glances while Noah and Sam talked at Mike about the latest video game. Lauren was in the midst of enjoying a little Valentine's Day candy and Finn was moping in a corner, so the two were left to their own devices.

"So, I meant to mention this earlier," Quinn said lowly, startling the brunette. She put a calming hand on her shoulder. "Mom has had this date set up for like a month, and I'm sort of thinking with how excited she is, she won't be coming home tonight, so we'll…have the place to ourselves."

Rachel was fairly certain she got whiplash. Quinn smiled when she met her gaze, and the diva's heart started pounding in her ears, cutting out the background noise of their teammates's chatter. They would be completely alone? Tonight? With Quinn? All alone, Quinn, Valentine's Day. Alone. And she still had more of the plan left. The brunette tried to calm her breathing, praying the blonde wouldn't notice how erratic it had become.

"Oh. Cool," she said, feeling incredibly inarticulate and more than a little nervous, and she was sure it came through in her halfhearted little smile.

The blonde's smile dropped a fraction, but before she could ask what was wrong, Mr. Schuester entered, clapping his hands for attention. The others rushed to their seats and Quinn abandoned her hair-playing task in order to give their coach her undivided attention, as per Rachel's unspoken instructions. The brunette couldn't help but smile to herself at how focused the blonde had become during glee since their friendship began.

"Okay, all right. How is everybody? Happy Valentine's Day, huh?" Mr. Schue said excitedly, grinning. "I hope everybody has a little something prepared to share with the group. How about we get this started? Who's up first?"

To everyone's surprise, Rachel did not instantly raise her hand. To everyone's apprehension, Sam leapt out of his chair as soon as Mr. Schue finished pronouncing the 't.' The Spanish teacher gave him the floor without question and Sam wiped his hands on his pants, panting and grinning nervously. Quinn and Rachel exchanged raised eyebrows.

"Okay, so, uh…this is dedicated to someone…really special to me," Sam announced, and he shot a wild grin directly at Quinn.

_Oh. God._ Rachel wanted to bang her head against a brick wall. Now _Sam_ was coming onto Quinn on Valentine's Day? Really? Did someone stick a 'please declare your undying love for me today' sign on Quinn's back or something? This was getting ridiculous. She knew the boys wanted to get back with Quinn, but honestly, did they _all_ have to do it _today_ and take the blonde's attention completely away from Rachel's wooing, possi—

_Oh, my God. Tell me he's not doing it._ Rachel actually reached up to try and unplug her ears (and blinked at least fifty times just to make sure her vision was working, too), but nope. Sam was standing at the front of the choir room, unabashedly belting one of the corniest songs of all time: Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You.' And he was singing it directly to Quinn.

Rachel couldn't believe it. And neither could the rest of the audience, evidently, because most jaws had just clanged to the floor. She could've sworn she heard Kurt whisper to Blaine, "I _knew_ he was gay." It might've made her snort had she not been in such a state of shock and…well, awe. Because Sam was actually doing _well_.

He was no Whitney, to be sure, but his rendition was definitely good for his range and for being a guy and for singing that song. One of the most made fun of songs in the history of mankind. Rachel couldn't believe he was pulling it off. How was this possible? She hadn't thought he was _that_ talented. And whether Quinn was impressed by Sam's vocal skills or just embarrassed as hell about the song choice, any shot Rachel's song had once had at making any kind of impact on the blonde had just been blown out the window.

She hesitantly chanced a glance at Quinn, who was staring at Sam with pink cheeks and a rigid posture, and the thing that scared Rachel was that she couldn't tell what kind of discomfort this was. Was she embarrassed because he was singing this to her in front of everybody? That he was singing it at all? Or was she…actually feeling affected by it?

Rachel cradled her forehead. It didn't really matter either way. Step Three had just been crushed under a stiletto, set on fire, and flushed down the toilet.

When Sam finished, panting and pink and out of breath, but still grinning at Quinn, the glee clubbers started clapping slowly, starting with Mr. Schue. Rachel heard Santana snickering madly behind her and spied Noah sporting an amused smirk alongside Lauren, but the rest of them hesitantly put their hands together for that just plain awkward performance and Rachel again felt like introducing her head to a brick wall.

Silence so heavy you could've heard crickets followed the applause, and Rachel counted down three seconds before Quinn broke and shot from her chair, snatching Sam's wrist and dragging him into the hallway. Whether it was to chastise or ravish him, Rachel wasn't sure.

XXXXXX

"What the _hell_ was that?" Quinn screeched, and Sam winced.

He really hated the screechy mad voice. It was almost to glass-breaking levels. He had really thought that would work, too.

"I-I just wanted to tell you how I feel about you," he explained, smiling weakly when she narrowed her fiery eyes at him. "Look, I realized I messed up breaking up with you about the Finn thing last year. I know things weren't totally perfect between us, but I gave up too quickly. We were great together, and perfect for each other's images." He smiled.

Reputation was really important to both of them, so it couldn't hurt to throw that card in there, especially since that's sort of why they got together in the first place. Quinn looked like she was trying to remember how to breathe properly, closing her eyes and focusing on that before she met his gaze with a slightly steely one of her own.

"Sam," she said evenly, "you're a wonderful guy, if a little…insane, but that's exactly why you deserve someone who has real feelings for you. We were only together for what you just said: our images. And you and I both deserve more than that, don't you think?" He opened his mouth, but she continued without waiting for his reply. "I'm flattered, but…I'm not interested. I'm sure you'll—" she sighed "—find a nice girl someday who loves you and wants you for more than your abs and your popularity. I can't be that girl for you. Sorry."

And then she was gone. Sam sighed. Damn. Maybe he shouldn't have gone with Whitney.

XXXXXX

Quinn plunked down in the seat next to Rachel, looking even more aggravated than she had when she returned to lunch earlier that day. Kurt and Blaine were in the midst of performing one of the last numbers of the day, as only half the club had actually prepared numbers and most of them were duets anyway. Rachel had opted out of performing, and it only took nearly going on a rant about how commercialized the holiday has become to convince the others that they didn't care why she hadn't prepared a number.

Although Santana was now repeatedly kicking her chair, clearly not getting that Step Three was off.

Quinn ran a restless hand through her blonde locks, crossing her legs and trying to center herself with steady breaths. Rachel didn't ask if she was okay. For one thing, she obviously wasn't. For another, she didn't want to get her head taken off. Instead she simply set her hand palm up on her black skirt, and moments later, the blonde took the proffered embrace, interlacing their fingers and gradually calming with the soothing touch.

Kurt and Blaine finished their performance with a sickeningly sweet kiss and bowed to their applause, hands interlocked the entire time. Rachel whistled in place of clapping, seeing as Quinn had made the feat just slightly impossible when she tugged the brunette's hand into her lap instead. She was definitely, _definitely_ trying to give her a heart attack.

Mr. Schuester popped up once the other two were seated, grinning happily. Rachel idly wondered if he had taken a little Vitamin D this morning.

"Wow, guys, that was great. I'm really proud of what you came up with. Since it's a holiday and I'm sure you all have some special plans," he said teasingly, eyes twinkling as he peered around at all of them—Rachel shifted uncomfortably, "you guys are free to go and I'll see you tomorrow for some real work. How does that sound?" There were a few cheers before he said playfully, "All right, now get outta here."

Rachel didn't need to be told twice. She needed peace, quiet, and a room far, far, _far_ away from Santana, who she was sure was just chomping at the bit to kick her in her nonexistent nads for not singing the song. Frankly, though, the brunette wasn't sure she could even go through with the rest of the plan now. Sure, Quinn had liked the card, she had appreciated the chivalrous behavior, and had even rejected Finn (and Sam, by the looks of it), but….

The blonde had also been propositioned _twice_ today, and she'd been irritated after both attempts. Obviously she wasn't in the mood for romantic proclamations. Maybe Rachel should just back off, then. Accept her role as best friend, go over to Quinn's house tonight, and just watch movies like the blonde had planned all along. No flowers, no mixed CD, no chocolates. Movies.

She could do that. She could—

"Rach! Rach, hey, wait up!"

The brunette's heart fluttered and she slowed her steps immediately to allow the panting blonde to catch up. Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She couldn't do this anymore.

"You took off so fast, we didn't get to finalize plans," Quinn said hopefully, scurrying in front of Rachel to prevent any further progress down the hall. "You're coming at five, right? Or did you want me to drive you? I mean—"

The diva sighed forlornly. Why did she have to be so completely adorable? That hopeful sparkle in her eyes, the slight smile on her pink lips, the almost childlike enthusiasm that was such a contrast to her usual façade of confidence and poise. Rachel managed a small smile.

"I still have some things to pick up from home, but I'll come over at five sharp," she assured her calmly. "And Papa let me borrow the car today, so I'm all set."

The blonde flashed a grin. "Okay. Cool." She wrung her hands anxiously and said so softly the brunette nearly didn't catch it, "I'm really glad I get to spend this Valentine's Day with you."

Heart. Attack. That's what she was trying to give her. And at the tender age of eighteen, none of her Broadway dreams fulfilled, her life incomplete. Quinn smiled bashfully. Maybe it would be worth it.

"Me, too," she murmured, and the blonde's cheeks went pink.

"I'd walk you out, but I have to talk to Artie real quick," she said, voice stronger again and now tinged with irritation for some odd reason. "I'll see you later, though?"

Rachel nodded, and Quinn unexpectedly pulled her into a full-body hug. It lasted only seconds before the girl released her and bounced off down the hallway, leaving the brunette to her heart palpitations and excessively large grin. Maybe a go at Step Four couldn't hurt. After all, everyone likes flowers.

XXXXXX

After the drive home, an Olympic speed shower, and selecting the perfect outfit should her plans actually come all the way to fruition (a Valentine's Day red v-neck and three-quarter length sleeves, black skirt, ankle-high red socks and her Mary Janes), Rachel set out to fulfill the next step—Step Four: The Bouquet.

Most people went with the generic red roses, usually a dozen (less if they couldn't afford it), but this was Rachel Berry. She wasn't about to do anything halfway, particularly not when it came to one Quinn Fabray, who obviously deserved the best of the best. So when the cashier at the local flower shop (the only one in town, actually) automatically lifted up a bouquet of roses for her to purchase, the brunette waved them off and promptly demanded his assistance in collecting the selection of her choosing, much to the exasperation of the many husbands who had evidently forgotten about the holiday and were seeking to fix their oversight directly after work.

Rachel had, of course, done extensive research on flower meanings, right down to color, on the internet and so she was well-versed in her decisions. The daylily, representing great enthusiasm, and the hyacinth, expressing her sincerity, along with Quinn's favorite flower: the yellow tulip. Which incidentally meant 'hopelessly in love.' Appropriate was an understatement.

After many groans and complaints from behind her in line, Rachel put off signing the card, considering it her own special Valentine's gift to the poor men, and paid before driving off to Quinn's house. She arrived at precisely 4:59 p.m., at which point she pulled out the little card the cashier had given her to go with the flowers and, after much deliberation, simply signed it, 'Love, Rachel.' It was perfect in its vague specification, she thought.

And it was a good lead into steps five and six: The CD and The Chocolates, both of which were already tucked in her purse, ready to be whipped out at a moment's notice. She triple checked herself and the time before sauntering up to the door and pressing the bell, fiddling with the wrapping paper around the stems as she awaited the answer.

Moments later, the door swung open and the flowers flew behind her back as Rachel was greeted with the friendly smile of one Judy Fabray.

"Oh, hello, Rachel!" she said delightedly, waving her in. Rachel was careful to keep the flowers out of sight, front to Judy at all times. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"You, too," she replied, smiling nervously.

"Quinn is up in her room with a visitor right now, but you can go right on up," she said cheerfully, and physically ushered her toward the steps.

"O-okay."

But the woman had already taken off, apparently still in the midst of getting ready for this oh-so special date of hers. Rachel arched a puzzled brow at her behavior, but decided to put it to nerves. After all, she was feeling spectacularly out of sorts herself, not knowing how Quinn would take this rather large step. She took a bracing breath and hurried up the steps, pausing only when she heard the low hum of a voice. Her steps faltered and she padded the rest of the way, only to freeze at the doorframe when she recognized the voice as Noah Puckerman's.

Her jaw dropped.

"I know our history isn't all that good. I've fucked up, I'll admit it," he was saying frankly, and Rachel's breath hitched. "But that's over now. I wanna be with you, Quinn. For real, this time. I'll do whatever it takes, whatever you want. I won't even cheat. That's how much I want this, and I know you do, too."

Silence fell between the three as Rachel clutched her beloved flowers to her chest, awaiting Quinn's reaction with bated breath. The longer she was silent, the more the brunette lost hope.

"I…."

"We made a baby together. You can't just forget that."

Rachel nearly tripped and broke her neck three times on the way down those stairs. Tears streamed down her cheeks in rapid succession as she processed the realization that it was over. Her chance had passed by. Or maybe it had just been stolen by one dark and handsome bad boy who before now had never wanted to give Quinn all this. Why now? Why did he have to offer her everything she wanted to hear _now_? Wasn't it Rachel's turn?

She stopped at the door, hearing Judy humming somewhere in the recesses of the house. Her fingers came up to toy with the petals of a tulip, gently caressing it. 'Hopelessly in love.' Definitely hopeless.

After only a moment of hesitation, Rachel tore the card from the bouquet, crumpling it in her fist as she sniffled and dug out the CD and chocolates, placing them haphazardly on the coffee table before gently settling the flowers on top. A last look and she rushed from the house. Quinn still deserved the best, after all.

XXXXXX

Quinn met Puck's eyes sharply at his almost harsh reminder. He was right; she couldn't forget that. They had made a child together, a life, but it was one night. That night was a mistake, even if _she_ wasn't.

"Please don't use her," she said softly, and that was all it took for him to back down. He bobbed his head. "I care about you, Puck. You are…the father of my child. You took my virginity." His gaze flickered away. "I'll always care about you because of that. But that's as far as it goes. I don't want to be with you, I don't love you. And you don't love me. I really…I'm flattered, but we both know you'll never be able to be faithful to me. You never have been. I hope someday you find someone you can be faithful to, but we both know that I'm not her."

Puck sighed and turned to face the wall, leaning his elbows on his knees as he cracked his knuckles. Quinn didn't move, simply waiting for his reaction as she allowed her fingers to fiddle with a loose thread on the blanket beneath her. The silence was killing her.

"You're right," he said at length, meeting her eyes again. She let out a breath of relief without meaning to, and a smirk cracked his stoic expression. "Guess the Puckasaurus was just gettin' lonely in the cold winter months."

He waggled his eyebrows and she punched his shoulder with a roll of the eyes.

"Pig," she scoffed, but he just grinned.

"Yeah, yeah, you love me." He winked and stood, alleviating some of the pressure from the mattress. "I'll see you 'round, Fabray."

Quinn offered him a nod as he reached the door, smiling at her one more time before disappearing. She promptly fell back on her bed with a sigh, exhausted from her _third_ rejection of the day. Yes, third. She knew she was hot, but sheesh! It wasn't even like she had been showing _any_ interest in them at all. What had made them think they had a chance in hell?

She heaved a sigh and craned her neck backward, spying the time upside down. Her brow crinkled. Rachel was supposed to be here by now. Perhaps her mother had detained her downstairs….

Without a second thought, the blonde shot off the bed and pranced down, only to find her mother already heading through the door. She spied her daughter and gave her the brightest, most excited grin she'd seen on the woman since they received the first pictures of Beth from Shelby. She waved.

"Night, honey! Have a good time!"

Quinn just smirked, waving at empty air as her mother disappeared into the cold world. The house was silent. She frowned and drummed her fingers on the banister, preparing to march back up the stairs when a firework of colors caught her eye from the living room. She frowned and took the last two steps with a jump, heading toward the coffee table and swooping up a bouquet of beautiful violet and yellow and fiery orange and red flowers, stuffing her nose into the mixture without hesitation and smiling. Tulips were her favorite.

She checked through the stems and found an empty cardholder, sending her brow knitting and her lips pursing. Had her mom's date brought these? Had Puck? She shuddered at the thought that perhaps Finn or Sam hadn't quite gotten the message, and the motion brought her gaze downward, where a medium-sized heart-shaped box of Valentine's Day chocolates rested next to a transparent CD case, which held (big surprise) a blank CD.

The knitting brow tightened even more as she lifted the other two items in her arms, examining them for writing of any kind to help her find the culprit. There was none, and she was just about to scour the room for the card, thinking maybe it had fallen out, when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She dropped all three gifts on the couch in her eagerness to get to her phone—maybe it was Rachel saying she would be a little late.

Quinn's lips curved downward in a pout when she saw that it was only a voicemail, and she sighed as she clicked to listen, that frown only going deeper when she heard how horribly congested her poor Rachel sounded.

"_Quinn, it's me. I'm so sorry to cancel on you on such short notice, but I think I've come down with a cold. I wouldn't want to put you at risk of infection and start some sort of epidemic amongst us glee club members—that's honestly the last thing we need before Regionals this year, after all—so I've decided it would be best if I stayed home to nurse myself back into singing condition. I hope you enjoy your Valentine's evening nonetheless. …Good night, Quinn._"

The blonde lowered her phone. She could only think of three words to describe today: Fuck. Damn. Shit.

Why was nothing going right? Really, the only thing that had gone as planned was walking Rachel to class this morning, and she had even ruined that by not having the foresight to get a stinking card. And then at lunch, she had been _so close_ to having her hand on Rachel's thigh and seeing if she would freak out or something when stupid Finn had to interrupt. And then damn Mr. Schuester, ending glee before she even had a chance to protest. Granted, he didn't _know_ that she had had a number planned, but she had just worked _so hard_ with Artie the past two weeks and it just felt…wasted.

And now Rachel was sick, which meant she could kiss the rest of her plans goodbye, too. Quinn palmed the velvet box in her other pocket and flipped it open, sighing forlornly at the little gold star charm hanging from a silver chain. She knew Rachel already had one from Finn, but his had been sort of transparent and the brunette never wore it anyway. Quinn had hoped that having her initial 'R' etched in would make this one seem more…special.

Quinn abruptly strode toward the door, swinging on her jacket as she went, and checked for her keys one more time. There was no way Rachel would let her in the house if she was sick, but she could still drop it in the mailbox. Rachel deserved the best, after all.


	2. Part 2

**A/N:** Wow, I wasn't expecting that massive response. I like it. :) Sorry for the delay. As I said in another author's note elsewhere, I was going to post this over the last weekend, but I was thwarted by a power outage. I wasn't expecting this to get so long, but there's going to be a third—and _maybe_ fourth—part now.

**Part 2**

Rachel was always extremely cautious about checking the mail. Ever since that summer someone thought it would be amusing to cherry bomb the Berry mailbox (she _sort of_ got it; the rhyme would make someone chortle), it was just common sense to be careful about it.

Which was why, the day after Valentine's Day, even though she had spent most of the previous evening buried in a cocoon of blankets (alternately crying and moping) and was hardly coherent enough to even gather the energy to get on her elliptical machine upon waking, she still slipped on her Dad's favorite oven mitts on her way out of the house, scowling at the happy cows on her hands, and leapt a few feet back as soon as she gathered the courage to whip open the mailbox.

When no explosions disrupted the relative peace of the neighborhood, she cautiously lowered the oven mitts from her face and breathed a sigh of relief, stuffing them under her armpit and grabbing for the stack of envelopes piled inside. It was only when she saw the black velvet box sitting inside that she had second thoughts about taking the oven mitts off.

The first thing Rachel did after seeing the box was take a good, careful look around the neighborhood for any suspicious red lights or the like. If this was some sort of prank, or Jacob Ben Israel looking for opportunities to capture more pictures of her in her sleepwear (boy shorts and a tank top), there was sure to be _someone_ hanging around with a camcorder or camera. Her lips dropped into a frown when she saw nothing out of the ordinary; well, if you considered Mr. Nivsky yelling expletives at his weed whacker ordinary. And having lived in this neighborhood long enough, she did.

So, reluctantly, she reached inside and carefully started to slide the box forward, hoping the agonizingly slow motion would alert her to the trigger of whatever trap this was in time for her to move her hand to safety. But nothing happened. Her stomach twisted, because this obviously meant that whatever was _in_ the box was going to be bad. She scowled at the box in trepidation. Well, she may as well get it over with.

With a heavy sigh, Rachel tugged the oven mitts back on, turned the box away from her, and popped it open. Nothing happened.

She blinked. This was entirely too suspicious for her tastes, and whoever had planned it certainly had gone to elaborate measures to lull her into a false sense of security. Idiots. As though she hadn't suffered from enough pranks to know that just when you least expect it, the worst possible th—

"Oh, my God."

Her brown eyes went as wide as saucers and her mouth dropped open as she stared down at a shining gold star hanging from a glowing silver chain, both glinting off the morning sun and blinding her momentarily before she shifted it just enough to see that etched into the star in cursive was the letter 'R.' This wasn't some cheap little trinket somebody bought for her offhandedly. They'd actually had it _custom-made_. For her.

Rachel's first thought, sadly enough, was Jacob Ben Israel. It was quite possible he had taken Valentine's Day as an opportunity to woo her into one of his perverted fantasies and had dropped off the necklace in an attempt to charm her. But this wasn't exactly Jacob's style. If anything, he would have shoved the gift in her face in the middle of the hallway, all the while bobbing anxiously from foot to foot in order to avoid a 'mailman' moment right in front of her. He would make a point of seeing her.

This was somebody who just wanted her to have it. Her mind raced through the possibilities. Finn was next to jump into her mind, but he had already given her a gold star necklace (so this gift would be rather redundant, unless he had forgotten he ever gave it to her, which was entirely possible). Besides, judging from the way he had been looking at Quinn the previous day, it was doubtful Rachel had entered into his mind even once in the last few months. Puckerman was unquestionably off the list, as this was _definitely_ not his style (you couldn't steal something custom-made, after all) and he also only had eyes for Quinn. Jesse was in L.A., and he, like Jacob, would have to make a big, dramatic ordeal out of it to be sure she knew for absolute certain that he, and he alone, had procured this marvelous gift he was bestowing upon her—and the necklace, too.

Rachel briefly considered her fathers. Her first thought there was 'how pathetic', and she hurriedly decided that if her fathers were to buy her a custom-made gift for Valentine's Day, they would not be cruel enough to go through the ruse of putting it in the mailbox to make her believe someone else had gifted it to her. They would simply give it to her. She hoped.

She resolved to ask to be sure during the brief breakfast they would all share, and if they eased her mind with their answer, well…perhaps her secret gift-giver would reveal themselves at school. A small smile quirked up her lips this time, and she slipped off the oven mitts again to caress the shining gold star, running the pad of her finger over the 'R' twice. She would hate not to be able to thank them in person for such a lovely gift.

And it might be the one thing in her entire school day she would have to look forward to, considering that she would either have to put herself through the torment that would be seeing Quinn and Puckerman united at last, snuggling and whispering sweet nothings and giggling and—ugh, just the imagery was making Rachel feel sick. Or she would have to do the near impossible: avoid Quinn (and Puckerman) at all costs. She was personally leaning toward the latter, since she honestly wasn't sure how much she could take of seeing Quinn with someone else before she simply combusted.

And then she wasn't sure _what_ would happen; if she would explode into a veritable novel of reasons the pairing was the most unnatural she had ever encountered and why Quinn would be far better off with someone like Rachel, who would die to make her happy. Or if she would just flop to the floor and start sobbing uncontrollably. Hopefully, in either case, Santana and Brittany would come to the rescue, though Rachel had her doubts about that occurring should the former take place. Now that Santana didn't find her disgusting, she actually found the diva's rants and rambles more amusing than anything, and would rather grab a bowl of popcorn than shut her up. Rachel therefore prayed for the latter to happen should she find herself incapable of avoiding interaction with the happy couple.

Decided on her course of actions for the day, Rachel smiled at the necklace one more time before closing the lid and snatching the mail, trotting back inside to drop off the envelopes and oven mitts at the table next to her incoherent pre-coffee father. She placed a hurried kiss on his cheek before bouncing up the stairs to take her morning shower and selected an outfit that would both please Santana (since she would be spending a _lot_ of her time today with the Latina and Brittany if she was to avoid Quinn) and appropriately display her melancholy: black skirt, black knee highs, black turtleneck, and, of course, her Mary Janes. She spent some time grooming her hair the way she wanted it before slipping on the necklace at long last, making sure the charm hung down over the sweater in plain sight. She smiled at it in her reflection, her fingers lightly caressing a point of the star before she gathered her backpack and descended the stairs for breakfast, which was, as predicted, brief.

Rachel did manage to gather the information that she'd wanted, as her lucid post-coffee father noted the new addition to her wardrobe in way of admiration. They clearly hadn't done the deed. She let out a breath of relief before explaining its sudden appearance in their mailbox to her fathers, and neither knew of anyone stopping at the house the previous evening. Thus her interrogation ended, and she headed off to that dreaded place known as 'high school.'

It only took her twenty minutes to make the walk, compared to her normal thirty. Her brain had been on overdrive during the entire walk, planning out her day, remembering hers, Quinn's, and Puckerman's exact schedules, making a mental map of the school and deciding exactly how and when she would have to dodge them. And when Rachel Berry planned, she paced like a madwoman, and so the sidewalk took the pounding from her heels that her bedroom carpet was normally inflicted with, and she was at school ten minutes sooner than she was used to.

She felt rather ridiculous upon entering it for two reasons, which linked together. One, she was behaving like some sort of sleuth in a bad 50s detective movie: peering around corners and scanning hallways, slinking down said hallways with as much hush to her step as possible, flattening against lockers when she thought she heard a voice similar to those of the people she was so desperately trying to avoid. And two, since her departure from the Cheerios, Quinn was never here this early, and Puckerman showing up before ten was a sure sign of the apocalypse. So at this point, the sleuthing was just a little bit unnecessary.

Rachel had to remind herself of this over five times before she shook off her nerves and strode to her locker as usual, taking care of business there as hurriedly as possible in order to rush herself off to the auditorium and out of sight for the duration of the morning before class. Unfortunately, her luck had run out, and as she pressed her locker shut and heard a satisfying click, she also heard someone _very_ excitedly yelp her name down the hallway.

"Rachel! Rach! Hey!"

Quinn. Rachel panicked, looking around the hall for a suitable distraction or something to hide behind, but the hallways weren't full enough to duck into a throng and hitchhike to a safe location, and her locker wasn't near any classrooms. She was completely trapped. She swallowed resignedly and turned to face her best friend with the (hopefully) perfected 'neutral' expression she'd been practicing for the better part of the morning. She was going to have to use it for the rest of her high school life, it appeared, so she certainly hoped it was of high quality. Especially since the blonde looked like she'd skyrocketed _past_ cloud nine and gone to eighty-six.

"I didn't think you would be in school today," she panted as she trotted up, coming to an abrupt halt and letting sparkling hazel eyes rake over the shorter girl, who clutched her books tighter to her chest in order to halt the oncoming heart attack. Damn, that smile. "I'm so glad you're feeling better."

Rachel attempted a smile, but the fact that she failed miserably at producing one didn't matter in the least, as Quinn was already dipping in for a morning hug. The brunette panicked, almost instantly stumbling backward when the proximity and that _sweet smell_ invaded her little bubble of nonchalance. Another close call like that could only result in disaster, so she hurried to come up with a valid excuse that would both limit physical contact for the rest of the day _and_ wipe away that absolutely heartbreaking look on the blonde's face.

"I-I am feeling better," she sputtered, and Quinn paused her hasty retreat into her shell to listen to what the brunette had to say. She sighed her relief. "My fathers think it was the stomach flu, and while I am over the worst of it, I'd rather not take the chance of infecting you and putting you through the same misery. Believe me, it's entirely unpleasant."

Rachel's heart swelled and her stomach relaxed when Quinn's smile returned and her hazel eyes began to sparkle with adoration and fondness once more, and she knew what was coming next, yet she still wasn't quite prepared for the way it would instantly affect her, spreading a wide smile across her own cheeks and painting a blush over top. The blonde playfully rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm surprised at you, then. If there was risk of infection, why didn't you bring your hospital mask? You could be starting an epidemic as we speak!" Quinn exclaimed dramatically, grinning to let the diva know she was most definitely being teased.

Rachel huffed through her heart fluttering, fully intending to play along, when her own over-dramatic eye roll brought her to the realization that there was no tall, dark, handsome Jewish boy lurking beyond the blonde. True, Puckerman hardly showed to school before ten, but she would've imagined him playing the ball to the end of Quinn's chain once he finally won her heart for himself. As a way to signal to the rest of the student population that Quinn Fabray was under _his_ arm now, rather than out of actual devotion, of course. Rachel thought he'd get a head start with the geeky early birds this morning.

Before she could formulate a question for Quinn that would extract the required information about her new-old beau without revealing her own whereabouts the previous evening, the blonde spoke first.

"Nice necklace," she commented, a little smile playing at her lips. "Is it new?"

Rachel's fingers flew to caress the star charm instantly, and she couldn't stop her own smile from springing up on her features. She looked down to settle the necklace and its clasp straight on her sweater, fingering the silver chain and admiring the star as she answered.

"Yes, actually. I went to check the mail this morning and, well, there it was!" She smiled delightedly and glanced up at the smirking ex-cheerleader, relieved that this still felt oddly natural—telling Quinn everything—despite recent events. "There was no card or anything like that, though, so I have no idea who possibly could have given it to me. All the usual culprits would either be more brazen about presenting me with a token of their affections, or…or they've long since transferred those affections to you."

Quinn's smirk dropped and Rachel's gaze flickered to the glimpse of red fabric in her peripheral vision. She already knew it was a Cheerio standing at her locker, but it was a lovely excuse, wasn't it? She cleared her throat as she scanned the black stripe angling down the cheerleader's shoulders.

"So you have no idea who got it for you?" the blonde asked, drawing the brunette's gaze back up—and even farther up.

To her surprise, Quinn had shifted closer while she was distracted, and the sudden proximity had her body flushing with heat, which only intensified when the blonde delicately lifted the charm from her chest, gazing at it reverently. Rachel again cleared her throat, knowing damn well it would be huskier and lower than strictly necessary when she managed actual words.

"No, none."

Quinn smiled, an almost mischievous glint in her eye as she said softly, "Must be someone who thinks you're pretty special."

Rachel only had one response to this: gulp. It absolutely murdered her when Quinn did this. This exact thing. It started with the smile: gentle, genuine, sweet, and almost…puckering out. As though she was putting a little pout into it, making her lips look oh-so plump and kissable. The next step was the eyes: shaded under long lashes that batted occasionally, drawing attention to dark pupils and a firework of green, light brown, and flecks of gold in the irises, focused so intently on their prey it was at once mesmerizing and terrifying. And then it was the voice. Soft, but not in the 'you're sad, so I'm comforting you' way. It was almost…sensual, like she was speaking as lowly as possible in order to draw you in, lure you closer, seduce you.

Little did Quinn know, she needed to do very little to seduce one Rachel Berry, and so all this simply drove the brunette crazy—in the best way possible. She gulped again and made a mental note to tell Quinn to call 911 before the heart attack rendered her completely incapable of speech.

"Oh, my God! Rach, Quinn! Yay!"

Both girls jumped—almost clear to the ceiling—as their bubble was snapped by none other than Brittany, who bounded through and around and seemingly over people on her way over to them, a joyous grin on her face, and Rachel's stomach dropped as she suddenly realized what the blonde was thinking. While Quinn had her back turned, she hastily made slashing motions across her neck, hoping the bouncy blonde would get the message. No such luck.

"You're here! Together!" she yelped, and Rachel almost screamed with frustration until her savior, her Latina in shining V-neck, put a calming hand on her girlfriend's shoulder and said mock-sweetly, "Why, it _is_ Juno and Fanny, looking oh-so _sad_—" here she looked pointedly at Brittany, who almost immediately deflated "—on the morning after Valentine's. What's the matter? Get none? Don't feel too bad, _most_ people don't want recycle." She grinned cheekily.

Quinn rolled her eyes angrily, but Rachel offered Santana a nod of thanks (both for the rescue and the 'Funny Girl' reference). The Latina merely quirked an eyebrow in answer, and the brunette nodded again, this time in understanding. Time for a chat, apparently. Santana nudged Brittany to give her cue.

"I'm sorry your Valentine's Day sucked," she said almost instantly, pouting down at Quinn, who started to shrug.

"It—"

"You wanna hear about mine?" she cut in cheerfully, and Quinn was yet again thwarted in achieving speech when Brittany squealed and linked their arms, dragging her away from the brunettes so they had room to talk. Rachel smiled as she fell in step with Santana a few feet behind, listening to the blonde chatter for a moment. "So then there was a note in the duck's beak, and it told me to go to The Place, which I knew meant San _really_ wanted me to find her at the swan boat place we went to that one time cause that's where we first kissed—"

"That's sweet," Quinn commented sincerely.

"—and later we had sex in the boathouse."

"Oh."

Rachel shook her head in amusement, shooting a sideways glance up at an entirely smitten Santana.

"I'm glad you were able to give her the Valentine's Day she deserves," she said softly, and the Latina snapped out of her daze with a sigh.

"Well, since I fucked up the last two in a row, it was the least I could do," she said gruffly, then narrowed her eyes on the shorter brunette. "Now, you wanna tell me what the hell happened between lunch and glee yesterday that made you completely punk the hell out?"

Rachel frowned. "Finn happened, Santana. And then Sam, and then Puckerman, and—"

"Puckerman?" she spat disbelievingly.

"Yes, Puckerman. I did not completely 'punk out,'" she retorted, using air quotes and eliciting a roll of the eyes from the Latina. "After Sam's incredibly disconcerting performance yesterday, I realized that any song I sang wouldn't garner attention from Quinn. She would've been far too distracted thinking of Sam's garish display of affection." Santana grunted, which Rachel took as agreement. "However, when she expressed her delight at spending the evening with me, I decided to carry on with Step Four, only to discover _him_ in her room."

Santana's nose wrinkled instantly in revulsion. "Boinking?"

"What? No! No, but he _was_ making overtures to her."

"And?"

"And what? He was offering her everything she ever wanted from her relationship with him: faithfulness, stability, honesty—"

"Again, I say, _and_?"

Rachel huffed irritably. "And…he brought up Beth," she said triumphantly, and Santana scowled.

"Ouch. What an asshat." She shook her head, as though to clear it. "So, what? Quinn couldn't resist the mention of her daughter, stripped down and begged his big hunk of manliness to take her then and there?"

The brunette blanched at the mental image, avoiding the smirk on Santana's face as she mumbled, "I don't know."

The smirk dropped. "What?"

"I said I don't know," she repeated, louder.

Santana bent down to press her ear closer. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. I thought you said you _don't know_."

Rachel's brow knit. "That is what I said."

She blinked at her. "Are you a fucking moron?"

"Excuse me?" She was aghast.

"You mean you just fucking _left_ after that? Without even waiting to see what would happen?" she exclaimed, and Rachel hurriedly made motions to shush her. "Don't you 'shh' _me_, Berry! You're the one who didn't have the balls to listen to the rest of the fucking conversation long enough to find out if the teeny, _tiny_ possibility of Quinn picking that jackass _actually_ came through or not!"

Rachel sputtered helplessly. "But she's always wanted—"

"I mean, she freaking blew off Frankenteen and Bieber in _one day_—Valentine's Day! So she could fucking spend it with a shrieking midget—_you_! And Finnocence may be a freakishly large ape and Lady Lips might be able to eat the Empire State Building like it was a hot dog, but Santana Lopez hit _both_ those asses, which means they are Grade A, you got me? And you're telling me you don't think that after all that, there is even the slightest, teeniest, tiniest _possibility_ that Quinn likes _you_?"

Rachel stared, wide-eyed, up at the panting Latina where they had stopped in the hallway. In her peripheral vision, she could see Brittany still attempting to distract Quinn from their conversation, but the blonde was evidently making it difficult. The blue of Brittany's shirt kept moving from place to place, and Rachel could only assume she had to keep blocking Quinn's view of Santana getting up in her face.

"No," she said softly, then winced. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know, okay?" She sighed. "It doesn't matter anyway; she's with Puckerman now." She fiddled with her star necklace.

Santana growled angrily. "But you _don't know_ that. What the hell happened to your fabulous, infallible color-coded and laminated step-by-step plan? You didn't even get to Step Three, so how do you know she wouldn't have kept up the positive responses? It's not too late, you know. Just because it isn't Valentine's Day doesn't mean you can't still do it. You'll just have to change the name to like…the Ten Step Plan, or something equally as lame that doesn't make you sound like a drug addict." She arched a brow. "You're not, are you? Cause the last intervention I was in on went to shit; I'm not putting me and Britts through that again."

Rachel knew what she was about to say was a bad idea, but…well, she couldn't help herself. Besides, sometimes Santana didn't mind it when she teased her a little. Sometimes. So she smirked wryly, and commented softly, "Why, was it yours?"

Surprise flashed in dark eyes before a wicked gleam took place and Rachel's stomach dropped. Santana glanced away, a mischievous smirk on her face, and murmured, "This? Is going to be worth it." And promptly smacked Rachel upside the head.

"OW!"

She rubbed her slightly stinging scalp with a pout and went to scold the Latina, but before she could, a grunt of pain echoed through the hallway and Santana had…disappeared. Rachel looked around wildly, only to find Santana smirking down at a fuming Quinn Fabray, who had evidently seen fit to shove her against the row of lockers. The students milling through the hallway had stopped, looking hungry for a confrontation, but the Latina wasn't looking for revenge.

"You can't play nice, you step off, got me?" Quinn snarled, and Santana just grinned, kissing a worried Brittany's cheek as she appeared at her side.

"Chill, Fabray," she said sweetly. "I was just knocking a little sense into your girlfriend's pretty head." She winked and tugged on Brittany's hand, disappearing into a disappointed crowd and leaving two very red girls behind.

They froze for a few moments, the word 'girlfriend' seeming to reverberate off the walls and between them, and Rachel's blush intensified when the panting blonde turned to face her. There was a flush in her cheeks as well, but when she spoke, it was with concern, rather than nerves, "Are you okay?"

Rachel cleared her throat. "Yeah. Thank you."

She offered a smile to Quinn, who returned it, and silence fell over them again. Rachel peered at Quinn sideways, trying not to be too obvious about her gaping as she wondered: could Santana be right? Had Quinn really refused both Finn and Sam in order to maintain her plans with Rachel? Had she refused Puckerman, as well? Did she…_like_ Rachel?

"I have to go," she said abruptly, although it came out as more of a squeak. She couldn't think around Quinn, and she desperately needed the time to analyze her motives. "To class."

Quinn faltered, but nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, me, too. See you later?"

"Sure."

"Great."

"Yeah."

Another pause and they brushed past each other on the way to class, both wondering when things had suddenly gotten so awkward between them.

XXXXXX

Quinn Fabray was not a stupid girl. She knew within the first three periods of the day exactly what was happening. This didn't mean she had any idea what to do about it, of course, but at least she knew what was going on. Rachel was avoiding her. Like the plague.

It started out perfectly innocently. Quinn had to take a detour to Ms. Pillsbury's office after her first period to meet with her about college applications (again), and as she headed down the hallway, she spied a familiar head of brunette hair coming her way. She didn't wave, because there were a few other girls in the school with brown hair, and it took a speedy detour into the janitor's closet anyway. So she assumed it hadn't been Rachel and went on with her day.

After second period, Quinn usually saw Rachel on her way to third, since their classes were on the same hallway. This time the brown mop just plain…disappeared. She wasn't sure exactly where she went, though she had been feeling highly suspicious of the group of jocks she passed by. Now she had to assume Rachel had decided to take advantage of her height compared to the bulking football players's.

There were a few other incidences like this, most of them ending in the brunette disappearing into the nearest girl's bathroom, but Quinn quickly caught on to the fact that brunettes seemed to be vanishing rather quickly wherever she went and she hadn't seen Rachel since that morning. It was not difficult to put together. So when lunch rolled around and Rachel didn't meet her outside her class, she may have been hurt, but she wasn't surprised.

She was mildly stunned at Santana's begrudging explanation for Rachel's absence. Apparently she had an emergency meeting with the McKinley's Student Alliance to Fight Global Warming Club in an undisclosed location she simply could not get out of. _Right_.

There were so many things wrong with that explanation Quinn couldn't even begin to list them. Of course, the fact that no such club existed was pretty high on the list, and if it did, it consisted of precisely one member who was probably hiding beneath the stage in the auditorium.

The blonde decided not to address the problems with that excuse in favor of glaring at the Latina the entirety of the lunch hour. The only explanation she currently had for Rachel's behavior was what Santana had said that morning, and as much as she _hated_ that explanation, she was running with it. It made sense, after all. Rachel really only started behaving oddly after Santana had called them girlfriends.

Although it was a little weird since the brunette herself greeted her with that label before they became serious friends. Whatever, it was obvious what Santana was implying, and obviously it freaked Rachel out. Which was a bummer (_huge_ understatement), but Quinn wasn't about to end the precious friendship she had with the brunette over it. If she couldn't have a romantic relationship, she would still take whatever she could get.

Anyway, Quinn didn't know how to end this little avoidant stint of Rachel's, but she _did_ have a little fun with it. After she saw the brunette disappear into the girl's bathroom between fifth and sixth, she went in herself and waited until the bell rang to leave (she feigned giving her makeup a touchup the entire time), smirking to herself as she heard a breath of relief from the farthest stall in the corner.

Fortunately for the blonde, Brittany and glee club found a way to fix her problem before she had to take any drastic measures. Rachel, as expected, waited until the last possible minute to come in, but as she was about to make her way to a seat next to Mercedes, Brittany started waving her arm and exclaiming for her to come and sit next to them—as though they were in a baseball stadium rather than just the choir room, but it was helpful and endearing all the same. No one on this planet could reject one Brittany Pierce, even if it was only because one Santana Lopez would beat them into a pulp if they did.

So Quinn helpfully moved a chair over as Rachel reluctantly made her way up the risers and sat uncomfortably between the two blondes, the one on her left smiling cheerfully and the one on her right smirking smugly. Rachel crossed her arms, folded her legs, and started fiddling with her star charm, eliciting a grin from Quinn. Even if the brunette didn't know it was from her (or didn't want to know, either), she couldn't help the way her heart swelled when she saw how fond of the gift she already was.

"So I was just saying to Brittany and Santana," she said, by way of greeting, and the Latina cocked an eyebrow on the other side of the girls while Rachel shot to attention. "Since you were sick and they were too busy basking in the loveliness of their Valentine's Day, I didn't get to tell the three of you about _my_ excitement for the evening."

Rachel instantly looked away, while Brittany leaned to stage whisper to Santana, "Is Q telepathic now? I didn't hear her saying anything about that."

Quinn smirked in amusement before Santana asked sharply, "What excitement would that be, Q?"

She didn't let her confusion with the Latina's almost accusatory tone show, and instead focused her attention on the brunette beside her—who was still avoiding her, only now it was her eyes. Her fingers were fixated on that star, rubbing it with her thumb as though the repetitive motion was calming her. Quinn was tempted to reach out and take her hand, but with her sickness, Rachel wouldn't let anybody come into any sort of contact with her. Sometimes the diva's kindness really killed the blonde.

"The three gifts somebody left at my house," Quinn said at last, and the way Rachel instantly stiffened strengthened her urge to touch her. She tilted her head in concern, but Santana was already talking.

"Let me guess: gold, frankincense, and myrrh?"

The blonde rolled her eyes.

"Why would someone give Q a Frankenstein candle?" Brittany asked.

"They didn't, B. S is just being a wiseass."

"I don't think butts are smart, Quinn. But S has a cute butt!"

Quinn exchanged a glance with Rachel, whose lip was quirked in amusement. The blonde's own smile widened until the brunette abruptly looked away.

"Anyway, it was actually flowers, chocolates, and a CD," she explained.

Santana's brow quirked. "So? Roses, candies, and what? A Supremes album?" She scoffed. "Cliché."

Quinn huffed her irritation. "_No_. I said they were flowers, not roses, and one of those heart-shaped boxes of Valentine's Day candy? And a mixed CD."

Santana smacked her hands on her lap, suddenly looking downright _giddy_. Quinn arched an eyebrow to mask her confusion. Rachel was slowly sinking down in her chair.

"_Really_?" the Latina asked, leaning toward them with a grin on her face and a glint in her eye. "Just plain old flowers and some stupid love songs I'm sure you hated, right?"

Quinn's brow furrowed. "No, it was actually a really good CD. It had a lot of my favorites on it, and the flowers were gorgeous. Not to mention, there were yellow tulips in them." She smiled delightedly.

Rachel shrank further.

"_Wow_. Sounds like you've got a stalker," Santana sing-songed, and Quinn rolled her eyes, but before she could protest in defense of her mystery flower-giver and get to the point of telling them all this, the Latina added, "_Or_ it's someone who knows you really, _really_ well. Don't you think, Berry?" She grinned.

Rachel had gone pale, a stark contrast to the dark outfit she was clad in today, and her turtleneck moved with the motion of her swallow. She cleared her throat uncomfortably as she scooted back up in her seat, smoothing her skirt across her delicious thighs and sitting primly as she replied to the Latina's inquiry.

"Not necessarily, Santana," she said, emphasizing her name as though trying to get across a point. The Latina just smirked. "It's possible that whoever left the gifts behind was merely making an educated guess about Quinn's preferences and got lucky."

"So you're on the stalker bandwagon," Santana summed up, and Rachel's cheeks flushed.

"I didn't say that! I was only pointing out that this mysterious gift giver doesn't necessarily have to be someone close to her," she retorted hurriedly.

The Latina abruptly turned to the blonde to Rachel's right. "Q, where were these gifts when you found them?"

Her brow furrowed. "On the coffee table. Why?"

Santana instantly turned back to Rachel. "See? Obviously Mummy Dearest trusted whoever it was enough to let them in the house. Gotta be somebody close enough to her for that."

Quinn brightened. "I hadn't actually thought of that…."

Rachel, on the other hand, was spluttering, "But that doesn't mean she let them in! Perhaps she greeted them at the door, accepted the gifts, and put them on the coffee table herself before departing for her date."

Santana scowled, while Quinn's shoulders drooped again. Well, there went that theory. The list of people her mother would willingly let in the house was actually kind of small, and it would've cut down on the amount of work she had to do to find out who it was. Though that was technically a bad thing, if she ever actually managed to get around to her point and recruit Rachel's help in discovering this person's identity.

That was all she'd wanted when she started this discussion, after all. Not this drawn-out debate between her friends about whether or not her mystery flower-giver was a stalker. In truth, Quinn was flattered by the gifts, but frankly, she wasn't all that interested in the identity of the person if she would only have to reject them in the end anyway. The only person she wanted was Rachel, and if she had to feign wanting to know the person's identity to get her to spend a little time with her, so be it.

She was jolted back to reality, where the other two had evidently been lost in thought as well, when Brittany asked, "Quinn, you live with a mummy? No wonder they bought you the Frankenstein candle." She smiled.

The blonde shook her head abruptly, turning to the brunette next to her. "Anyway, that's actually what I wanted to ask you."

Rachel's brow knit adorably as she asked, "If I live with a mummy?"

Quinn felt the grin spread across her cheeks before she could even try to stop it from growing that wide, and she shook her head fondly. "No. I wanted to ask if you would, you know, help me find out who gave me the gifts. I have absolutely no leads right now and—hey, maybe on the way, we can find out who got you that necklace."

The brunette's hand flew up to caress it, but she frowned uncertainly. "Oh, I don't know, Quinn…I…." She sighed. "Have you tried asking Finn or Sam if it was them?" she asked, a pout on those plump lips.

Quinn licked hers, but shook her head. "There's no point. They've been glaring at me all day, and my mom was at work yesterday, so it's not like they could've dropped them off earlier, before I rejected them. I really don't think it was them."

Rachel folded her arms, almost petulantly. "It was probably Puckerman."

Huh?

"Puck…?" Her brow furrowed as she considered it, then shook her head. "I really don't think that's his style, Rach. Why would you think that?"

"Yeah. Why _would_ you think that, Rachie?" Santana mocked, and Quinn shot her a glare.

Rachel swallowed. "Oh. Um…didn't you…mention him coming over?"

She arched a brow. "No, I never said anything about that, although he _did_…."

"Maybe you forgot. How else would I know?" the brunette said hastily, clearing her throat.

"Hm. How else _would_ you know?" Santana pondered, tapping her chin. Rachel shot her an almost…panicked? Look, and Quinn's brow arched all the higher. What was going— "_Maybe_—"

"Noah told me!" Rachel yelped, as though she had just remembered. "Earlier."

The Latina rolled her eyes.

Quinn's frown deepened as she pondered aloud, "Why would he tell you that?"

It seemed kind of odd that he would inform _anyone_ of getting rejected.

"Um…well, he knew we had plans and he mentioned he didn't see me there yesterday evening, so I informed him of my sudden illness and he explained that he had been over to, um, borrow something," she finished awkwardly, smiling when Quinn rolled her eyes. Of course he made up a story.

"Oh, well…it wasn't Puck, believe me," she said lightly, and Rachel bit her lip.

"Maybe they were for your mom," she offered, and then her nose wrinkled endearingly, as though she had just realized how lame that suggestion was herself.

"Highly doubt anyone who was trying to court my mother would give her a CD of anything but country or gospel music," Quinn replied with a chuckle, and Rachel smiled sheepishly. "Come on, Rach. Please? As a favor to your best friend?" She poked out her lower lip into a pout, and the brunette squirmed in her chair.

"Oh, you just _had_ to pull out the best friend card, didn't you?" she grumbled teasingly, and Quinn grinned in triumph.

"Whatever it takes," she said with a shrug, and Rachel's cheeks flushed with her smile this time.

A clearing throat interrupted them, and Santana said with a disgusted expression, "Excuse me, did you just say 'court'? That is so 1800s."

Quinn smirked. "Excuse me, did you sing a Celine Dion song to your girlfriend last night?" The Latina blanched. "That is so _lame_."

"San wasn't limping," Brittany commented, looking confused.

"You wouldn't sing something like that to _your_ g—person that you were dating?" Rachel asked, sounding slightly wounded.

Quinn just smiled. "There are other songs to sing, Rach. They don't have to be by a classic artist to be sincere."

Rachel smiled then, that adoring, sweet smile she wore whenever Quinn said or did something that especially pleased her. Quinn tried to sigh down the butterflies winging through her stomach.

XXXXXX

Rachel wasn't sure what possessed her to agree to help Quinn discover the identity of the person who left her three gifts that were pleasing enough to her for her to try to hunt down this person when in all actuality it was Rachel herself and Quinn was bound to be disappointed. Okay, so actually she was sure what possessed her: Quinn herself (those sparkling eyes and that pout-y lip and that sweet lull to her voice…). But that didn't make this any idea any better at all.

Because, after the awkwardness that was that morning and then spending the rest of the day diving out of the way to avoid the blonde (she'd had to hide in the _janitor's_ closet at one point, and it was absolutely _disgusting_), Rachel had come to the conclusion that Santana was wrong. Everyone in McKinley High School knew that Quinn Fabray was what one would call a 'go-getter.' When she decided she wanted something, she went after it without hesitation and she worked until she achieved whatever it was (and then she basked in triumph). She was ambitious, driven, ardent—all things Rachel loved about her, but proof that Santana was simply wrong.

Quinn couldn't like her, because if Quinn liked her, she would've gone after and gotten her a _long_ time ago. She would've turned 'go-getter' into 'go get her' in a nanosecond.

All right, so Rachel admitted that pun was lame, but still. Her point was valid.

Despite it being a horrible idea, Rachel still found herself in Quinn's car after school, listening to the mixed CD she had put together herself and trying her hardest not to sing along. She actually had to bite the inside of her cheek at one point, and she was fairly certain she had drawn blood at one point. It went against her nature _not_ to sing along to music, but she simply couldn't if she was supposed to keep up the charade that she had never heard the CD before.

Of course, Quinn had no such problem, and she was singing softly to herself whenever one of her favorites played. And thus Rachel had to spend the entire ride with her legs clamped together along with her teeth digging into the sensitive flesh of her inner cheek. It wasn't her fault Quinn's voice was so…sensual.

When they finally arrived at the Fabray home, Rachel's worst fear about this entire thing was assuaged. Quinn shot her a smile as she put the CD away and then led the way inside, pausing at the kitchen doorway to say hello to her mother. Rachel's heart pounded, fearing the woman would remember her dropping by and ask them how their evening was or something, but Judy only smiled.

"Oh, hello, Rachel," she said, lowering her reading glasses as she looked up from her pile of bills. "Did you have a good Valentine's Day?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Mom. I told you, she was sick yesterday?"

Judy's smile instantly dropped into a sympathetic frown. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you feeling better today?"

Rachel relaxed and her smile was genuine as she answered, "Much, thank you."

The younger Fabray smiled at her in turn and informed her mother, "We're just going to be upstairs."

"All right, I'll call you when dinner's ready. You're staying, I hope, Rachel?"

"If you don't mind." _Now that it's clear why you were acting so strange last night. Someone obviously had a little liquid courage before her date._

"You're staying," Quinn said firmly, but smiled to ease the sternness of her order. "Come on."

Rachel gave Judy one last grateful smile before hurrying up the stairs after Quinn, tossing her backpack next to the blonde's on the bed before flopping herself next to them. Quinn shut the door and set the CD case on her desk before hurrying to her nightstand, where Rachel noted the blonde had placed the flowers in a lavender vase. Its color was much paler than the violet of the hyacinth, and it set it off nicely, she thought. A small, involuntary smile graced her lips.

Quinn plopping next to her distracted her, and she followed the blonde's example in shucking off her shoes. The ex-cheerleader finished first and popped the lid off of the heart-shaped box she had retrieved from her nightstand drawer. Rachel watched in trepidation as she chewed and her eyelids fluttered over those hazel eyes, a soft moan escaping pink lips. The brunette bit her lip to keep from whimpering and willed her start to stop fluttering.

"God, these are good," Quinn commented with a sigh, and smiled apologetically. "I would offer you one, but I looked on the label and they're not vegan-friendly."

Rachel knew this already, of course, but she forced herself to shrug. Quinn brought the leg dangling off the edge of the bed up to join its twin, sitting Indian style, and set the box of treats aside, reaching for the vase instead.

"Well, this is it," she announced, smiling and touching her fingertips to one of the flowers. "Tulips, daylilies, I think. And, um…do you think these are lilacs?"

"Hyacinths," Rachel blurted, and instantly blanched. _Crap, crap, crap!_

Quinn's eyes had gone wide with surprise, and the brunette dropped her gaze to her fingers, clenching them painfully tight around one another in the hopes that the action might somehow enable her to disappear. _Way to go, Rachel. Why don't you just announce it to her? 'Yes, Quinn, I left these gifts as a sign of my deep love and affection for you in hopes that you would somehow find it within your heart to change your sexual orientation on a whim and return my not at all stalker-like feelings for you.' Right. Excellent._

"I didn't know you knew about plants," Quinn interjected in the diva's string of self-deprecating thoughts, and Rachel glanced up with hope at the impressed tone to her voice. When she read the same thing on her face, she perked up and cleared her throat, quickly employing her well-groomed acting skills.

"My dad is very proud of his front lawn garden, and he planted hyacinths in it a couple of years ago for purposes of variety."

"Oh." The blonde pondered that for a moment before clearing her throat. "Well, I figured we should start with the flowers, since the CD isn't going to be much help and, well, who knows how many places sell these?" She lifted the candy box with a wry smile, and Rachel returned it. "There's only one flower shop in town, and chances are they wouldn't travel out of town to buy them. I was thinking maybe we should drop by there after dinner, as a start?"

_Oh. Crap._

"S-sure. That sounds like a good idea."

_Crap, crap, shit! What if that clerk is there? He might not remember me. Maybe. Except I was probably the only person in that store yesterday who didn't want red roses. And probably the only girl. Shit!_

"And…well, I don't know. I was thinking we could look up flower meanings, since they obviously didn't go for the generic Valentine's Day red roses. Maybe they put a little more thought into it."

_Did I make direct eye contact with him or not? If I didn't, maybe he won't recall. When you don't make direct eye contact, you're less likely to remember the person because you weren't paying attention. If I did…ohcrap, ohcrap, ohcrap!_

"Sounds good."

_Maybe if I recommend bringing in the bouquet, I can carry it for her and then hide behind the flowers. That might work. He would have no opportunity to see me!_

"Great," Quinn said cheerfully, bouncing off the bed and returning a moment later with her laptop. She leaned her shoulder into Rachel's and hummed to herself, snapping the brunette out of her daze. She peered to read what the blonde was busily typing into Google Search to grab clues as to what had happened while she was internally panicking, and her heart pounded in her ears.

'Flower meanings.'

_Oh, shit!_


	3. Part 3

**A/N:** So I'm saying this story mostly follows 'Sexy' canon except Brittany and Quinn weren't dumb, mmkay? So that would be when Brittana got together and the Fuinn madness did not continue. Anyway, this part is a little shorter than the others, but the stopping point was just too good to pass up.

**Part 3**

"So do you think this person is sincerely enthusiastic about being hopelessly in love with me? Or enthusiastically sincere about it?"

The silence in the car had been _stifling_. Ever since Quinn had decided to look up flower meanings, it was as though Rachel had completely shut down on her. Which was frightening for more than one reason. For one thing, complete silence Rachel was near to impossible to read, but on the rare occasion it happened…usually she was angry about something or other. So angry she couldn't even find the words to express it.

Thus why Quinn was resorting to desperate measures in an attempt to break the awkward tension with somewhat of a joke.

"Or maybe they're hopelessly in love with being enthusiastically sincere."

Rachel's response to Quinn's playful pondering was not what she'd expected. The brunette leveled a stern frown her way, the disapproval ringing out in her expressive brown eyes with such force that the blonde instantly looked away, readjusting her grip on the steering wheel. She _hated_ that face on Rachel. It literally had her on her knees, groveling, with each and every appearance it made. And Quinn Fabray did not grovel. Or at least not on her knees.

"Why do you even want to find this person, Quinn?" she suddenly burst out, and the blonde glanced at her in surprise. "If all you're going to do is jest about their obviously carefully considered selections in their quest to woo you, I rather doubt they're going to be pleased with the result when you finally do find them, as it seems to me all you seek to do is spurn their advances in the most humiliating way possible."

The diva folded her arms angrily and glared through the glass of the window at the yards of melting snow, and all Quinn could do was stare vacantly at the road, muscles bunching with tension in reaction to her best friend's tone. It wasn't as though Rachel had never gone off on her before—they'd had their fair share of arguments—but it was rare for her to defend someone else so vehemently. Usually she was on Quinn's side of things in an instant, yet for some reason, with some stranger, she was inexplicably defensive. She licked her lips in thought, intent on fixing this quickly.

"It was just a joke, Rach," she said softly. That tone of voice usually went over the best when she was pissed at her, and when she saw the brunette shift slightly toward her in the corner of her eye, she smiled triumphantly. "I know what they meant."

"Do you?" She sounded skeptical.

"Of course. They're emphatic about their affections for me and sincere in their advances," Quinn replied easily. It wasn't that hard to figure out, after all. "And I don't intend to humiliate them; I just want to be able to thank them in person for what they did. Don't you want to thank that person who gave you the necklace?"

Rachel's hand darted up to caress the gold star and Quinn swiveled her head to the road again, a smile quirking her lips at the instinctive protectiveness her best friend felt for the gift _she_ had given her. Not some dumbass boy. _Quinn_. It made her heart swell with pride, despite the fact that the brunette had no idea it was from her.

"I suppose I see your point," Rachel allowed, then continued with a scowl. "However, the person who gifted this to me clearly put in a great deal of effort, thought, and money into its selection and purchase. A generic box of chocolates and a mixed CD is hardly personal or grand enough to come anywhere close to being what you deserve, and frankly the flowers could have used a bit more consideration as well."

Quinn was confused. Now she was tearing the person _down_? But—did she just say she deserved more?

"What they obviously _should_ have done is placed an order at your favorite chocolate shop in Columbus," the brunette was continuing emphatically, and the blonde knew better than to say anything, even about her very abrupt change of opinion on this mystery gift giver. She was on a roll, and an interruption would only garner her a glare that would have even Santana heading for the hills. "And they should have paid extra for a specific selection of your three favorites: caramel, almond, and coconut; not to mention a special gift box in your favorite colors, preferably navy blue for the box and pale yellow for the ribbon, and then they should have serenaded you with accompaniment by guitar outside your bedroom window with your favorite song before gifting to you the chocolates and the bouquet of flowers, which _should_ have been something more meaningful, like red and pink roses, as well as yellow tulips, and of course, orchids." Rachel took a deep, satisfied breath. "That would have been _much_ better."

Quinn swallowed, processing. The obvious answer to most of that paragraph was that not everyone knew her as well as Rachel did, so of course they couldn't go to all those lengths. However, she was stuck on the flowers she had mentioned. Yellow tulips were her favorite, so it was clear why Rachel had included those, and everyone knew that red and pink roses expressed passion and love. But orchids…she ran through the many meanings they had looked at on that website in her head, trying to pinpoint when they had spied that one.

Oh, yes. Orchids—delicate beauty.

Her breath hitched, and she slid her gaze over to the obliviously frowning brunette. Her cheeks flushed of their own accord and a small, albeit delighted, smile flickered over her lips as she asked shyly, "You think I'm beautiful?"

Rachel scoffed instantly. "There isn't even room for debate on that."

Quinn's smile grew into a flattered, happy grin as her cheeks went darker, and she gripped the steering wheel a little tighter in order to curb the urge to snatch up one of Rachel's hands in her own. She settled instead for a sideways glance at her best friend, heart racing and smile widening as she took in her adorably disgruntled expression. She was chewing into her lip hard, eyebrows scrunched together, and Quinn internally swooned. She loved Rachel's concentration face.

_Oops, yellow line. Don't cross it._ She cleared her throat and straightened up, forcing herself to pay more attention to Rachel's safety than her beauty. Hard as that was to do with her sitting just a console away, hands clasped in her lap and all the blonde wanted to do was take one and press her lips to the soft skin of her knuckle and—_seriously, Fabray! Yellow line!_

"Perhaps…if you only want friendship from this person, should you find them, you should call off the search," Rachel said thoughtfully, breaking the silence. "I doubt a mere 'thank you' is going to make them feel any better if you're not interested in them."

Quinn shifted. "Well, maybe I will be." _If it were you, I would be, anyway._

The brunette's scowl was plain to hear in her voice when she retorted, "What if he's ugly, Quinn?"

The blonde shot her an arched brow, but she didn't get to comment on that odd statement, because Rachel was already talking again.

"He could be, you don't know. Perhaps he's fat and short an-and balding. Maybe he even has to wear a hairpiece. Then what are you going to do?" she demanded, and Quinn's smirk was begging to be released, but she chewed the corner of her lip to keep it in check.

"Really, Rach, I didn't know you were so into appearances," she mock chided, and nearly grinned when the diva let out an affronted huff.

"I'm not! It wouldn't matter to me if you were covered in countless, dreadful scars and shaved your head; my affections would be completely unchanged. I am only thinking of _you_, Quinn." Said blonde's heart thumped in her ears as she stared at her unmindful friend. _Did she say…? Did she __**mean**__…?_ "You could be building up this ideal man in your mind that you hope beyond hope will be the one vying for your affections, only to find the real thing lacking because your expectations were set too high."

Quinn swallowed. Rachel was sort of right, because, well, no one was going to measure up to her. But she was also wrong, because, well, she wasn't a man. _That's for damn sure_, she thought wistfully, subtly eyeing the feminine curves hidden beneath that black turtleneck and licking her lips. The blonde momentarily lost herself in the memory of all the cleavage that had been provided by that Catwoman suit she'd practically forced the brunette into at Halloween. _So sexy_.

A shake of her golden head had her back on track. Rachel had used their relationship as an example, she recalled quickly, and her heart was racing again at the recollection of those words. Did she mean it the way Quinn wanted her to? Or was she merely drawing an applicable parallel with their friendship, since she didn't have a beau herself? The blonde bit her lip, uncertain, and glanced at her sideways again.

"Why are we so certain that this is a guy?" she prompted, and Rachel stiffened and froze in her seat.

Quinn waited, eyeing her every few moments to check that the brunette was still breathing as she contemplated her answer to this evidently very shocking question. Eventually, Rachel managed movement, and though it was small, Quinn considered it an accomplishment. She swallowed, throat flexing with the motion, and then one of those delicious lip-lick things she did followed and the blonde's attention for what would probably be the rest of the conversation was captivated.

Fortunately, they'd arrived at the flower shop, so she hurriedly pulled to the curb and parked, eyes darting from Rachel's lips to the road in rapid fashion.

"Wh-wh-why would it be a…a girl?" the diva managed to croak, and Quinn smirked sadly at her awkwardness with the idea.

"Come on, Rach. Do you know _any_ guy our age who would think for a second of buying something other than red roses?" she inquired dryly.

"Maybe he's not our age," Rachel blurted eagerly.

An awkward pause settled in their conversation, while Quinn arched a brow in mild disgust at the possibilities that left her with: someone much younger (which was doubtful, but still icky), or someone much older. Like a teacher. Ew. Suddenly Rachel's nose wrinkled adorably.

"Okay, please forget that I said that," she said, waving her hand dismissively, and Quinn chuckled as they both unbuckled. She turned in her seat, full-on facing the blonde as she said seriously, "But really, Quinn, a girl would have to be entirely off her rocker to attempt even entering into a mere flirtation with you. Everyone knows you're…one hundred percent straight."

The brunette's gaze went down to the console, where she was idly picking at a worn edge of the pleather material, and she cleared her throat uncomfortably. Quinn frowned at this, brow knitting with genuine confusion at her friend's evident sadness. The drop in her demeanor was unmistakable, and she wanted to do whatever she could do fix it, which with them usually started with a touch. Despite red warning flags going off in her head that (a) this was a bad idea when just moments ago she'd been fantasizing about Rachel's cleavage and (b) aforementioned owner of cleavage would probably lecture her for twenty minutes straight about the risks physical contact presented when one of the participants was ill, Quinn reached up and began idly combing her fingers through the silky tendrils at Rachel's temple, pulling them back from her face with a gentle smile when the brunette looked up sharply.

Her plump, delicious lips parted, and Quinn prepared herself for the oncoming lecture, but none was forthcoming, and so her fingers never ceased their soothing movements and her smile grew. And despite a red, flashing siren going off in her head telling her that what she was about to say was a bad idea when Rachel was clearly not interested in her, she went ahead in a soft, sultry tone that always seemed to capture the diva's attention instantly, no matter how loud the environment around them was.

"Anything's possible, Rachel. You never know; if the right girl came along…." She trailed off with a shrug to supplement the end of her sentence, leaving the brunette to use her imagination.

She watched with a smirk as the brunette's mouth opened again, but no sound came out. It was quite a day when someone struck Rachel Berry speechless twice in a row. And Quinn didn't know if it was that or simply the moment they were caught in, but she felt her confidence grow, and before she knew it, her fingers were coasting through her hair, nails grazing lightly against her scalp, and she ultimately nestled them at the base of Rachel's neck, holding there, without pressure. Though it was most definitely a struggle not to use her new leverage to her advantage.

Instead Quinn took a moment to soak in the sight in front of her. She loved how big those chocolate eyes were, the way they were incapable of hiding exactly where Rachel was looking, and right now they were darting between the dashboard, Quinn's eyes, and downward, toward her lips. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her lips were still parted, her breaths coming quicker each time, and the blonde felt familiar tightening low in her abdomen, but before she could even think about acting on the growing tension, her phone vibrated and blasted the chorus of REO Speedwagon's 'Can't Fight This Feeling.'

What? It was appropriate.

While her stomach was busy sliding back down her throat to where it belonged, Quinn reluctantly untangled her hand from Rachel's hair, letting loose a wry chuckle, because of course someone would have to call at that exact moment. Sometimes her life felt like a never-ending sitcom wherein she was the 'straight' (no pun intended) character for whom nothing went right. She wondered what that made Brittany and Santana, since Rachel was obviously the unrequited love interest who Quinn could not stop getting into awkward situations with.

Like right now, for example. Rachel had shifted almost all the way over to her door, fidgeting uncomfortably with her sleeves and looking, well…_uncomfortable_. Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that the moment she'd practically forced onto her seconds ago had done that, made her best friend so discomfited in her presence. The solid weight of melancholy pressed down on her shoulders, and she struggled to sound even halfway cheerful when she answered her mom's call.

"Yeah?"

"That's how you answer your phone? Whatever happened to those manners I baked you for breakfast as a child?" her mother said playfully, and Quinn couldn't help the small smile that curved her lips at hearing her once-uptight mom sounding so…laidback. It was quite a relief.

"Funny, I don't remember you lifting a finger to cook when I was younger," she retorted teasingly, and heard an indignant squawk in response.

"Mutiny in the ranks, I tell you," Mom replied, then turned serious. "I just called to ask if you could pick up a gallon of milk from the store while you were out."

She nodded absently. "Sure, no problem."

"Thank you, darling. Oh, and if Rachel is staying the night, don't forget to have her call her fathers," she warned, and Quinn nodded again, cringing.

They didn't need a Berry Panic Attack 2.0. The first one had been frightening enough, what with the shrieking and crying and 'missing child' lectures. Quinn could certainly see where Rachel had gotten her flair for dramatics from: one tiny man in bifocals by the name of James Berry. After meeting him, Rachel didn't seem so theatrical.

"Right," she said belatedly.

"All righty, love you, sweetheart. Bye-bye."

"Love you, too." She ended the call with a click and met Rachel's expectant gaze with a pained smile. The brunette was still practically plastered to her door. "Mom wanted me to pick up some milk," she explained, and the diva bobbed her head in understanding. "And she wanted to remind us to call your dads if you're planning on staying over."

Rachel stilled for a moment before blurting, "I can't. I have some Chem homework that will _not_ get done if I stay the night around your bad influence."

Her playful tone and wry smile lightened the mood considerably, and soon Quinn felt a genuine smile stretching her lips.

She mock-gasped. "Me? A bad influence? I am _hurt_ that you would ever accuse me of such a thing. I'm on the _honor roll_, you know," she added haughtily, and Rachel laughed.

"Well, if I hope to stay on it with you, I cannot stay over tonight. I have to pass Chemistry and past history has taught me that I will end up rushing to finish it minutes before class begins if I stay over at your house," she replied, and Quinn smiled at the return of her regular, rambling Rach. Her muscles loosened for approximately the first time since that morning, before the brunette started avoiding her. "Which—"

"Is unacceptable," she finished, flashing a grin at the surprised diva. "Fair enough. Come on, let's get this over with so I can get Mom her milk and your highness safely home in time to complete this wicked homework that's keeping you from me." She winked, and Rachel's cheeks went pink as she smiled back this time.

Quinn reached back to grab the bouquet they had unanimously agreed to bring along, but Rachel intervened, snatching it first and tugging it into her lap.

"I'll get it," she said, almost cheekily, and the blonde raised a challenging brow.

"I have two hands, Rach."

"As do I." She wiggled her fingers as though to prove it, and giggled when Quinn rolled her eyes. "You're the one asking questions, Quinn. I'm only along for the ride. Therefore, I do the grunt work." It was her turn to wink as she popped open the door and hopped out, leaving a grudgingly grinning Quinn in her wake.

With a shake of her head, she got out on her side, placing a hand on the small of Rachel's back to guide her across the street safely, and opened the ringing door for the brunette as they entered the small shop. A lanky cashier instantly shot up from where he'd been leaning his stool against the wall on two legs and smiled in greeting.

"Hello, welcome to Nelson's Flower Shop; my name is Timothy. Is there anything I can help you with today?" he asked rapidly, smoothing his custom apron.

Quinn smiled in return. "Yeah, actually. Someone dropped these flowers—" She glanced back at Rachel to gesture to the bouquet, only to find that the brunette had lifted the bushel until it was completely covering her face. The blonde quirked a brow and hurried to recover from her disconcertion with her friend's behavior. "Um…off at my house yesterday, and I was wondering if it would be possible for you to, I don't know, find out who bought them, or if you'd remember, or if maybe there was a different clerk working yesterday that we could talk to?"

Timothy frowned in thought. "Uh, well, let's see."

He gestured for the bouquet, which, of course, Rachel couldn't see. Quinn cleared her throat.

"Rach?" The brunette cautiously peered out from behind a daylily. "He needs to see them."

She grimaced. "Oh."

After a moment of hesitation, Rachel took a breath and crept forward at a snail's pace, never moving out from behind the bouquet. Timothy looked a little impatient, but he waited until she was in reach to take the vase from her and set it on the desk before him. As soon as the flowers were out of her hand, Rachel did an about face and scurried back to Quinn's side, completely ignoring the concerned frown the blonde was pointedly shooting at her.

"Well, looks like daylilies, hyacinths, and tulips," Timothy said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. He turned to the computer and started tapping out keys. "Let's see if we can pull up anything in the system."

Rachel licked her lips anxiously and glanced up at a still-frowning Quinn before whispering, "I'm just gonna go look around," and slinking off toward a nearby display of ferns, which she instantly disappeared behind.

Quinn was…well, confused was an understatement, but she didn't get to dwell, because Timothy made a displeased noise.

"Well, I got it up pretty easily, but it looks like they paid with cash," he grumbled. "Was there a card when you got them? Because it says they bought that extra."

"You can tell all that just on your computer system?" Rachel suddenly screeched, reappearing abruptly and looking both panicked and furious. "That is an incredible violation of privacy and a great disrespect to your well-paying, unsuspecting customers who—"

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Timothy interjected, and Quinn _almost_ darted in front of him to protect him from the wrath he had just unknowingly unleashed on himself. Almost.

It was not her fault that Rachel in a rage (at someone else) was kind of hot. But that oh-so infamous lecture on proper etiquette and how interrupting someone was in no way a part of that never came. Instead the little brunette just stopped, mid-tirade, and froze solid. The only indication that she hadn't been turned to stone was the faint sound of her breathing, though she went considerably paler in the next few moments. Quinn placed a hand on her shoulder in concern, leaning closer.

"Hey, you okay?" she murmured, and it worked—the diva shook herself and cleared her throat and smiled weakly up at the blonde, who offered one back.

"Yes, fine. I was just…trying to recall if I had ever met this young man before," Rachel said slowly, narrowing her eyes back on the puzzled-looking cashier. "And…I don't believe I have, actually."

"Really? Cause I swear I've seen you before," Timothy said interestedly, peering at her closely. Quinn now felt like stepping in front of Rachel to protect her from this guy's far too…ogling expression. She scowled at him. "We didn't, like, date, right?"

Quinn stiffened instantly, but it melted away when the brunette laughed.

"Considering I haven't been on a date in over a year, I highly doubt it," she retorted dismissively. "It must be coincidence; perhaps I look like someone you know." She bit her lip, and the blonde's gaze laser-focused as she licked her own.

Timothy frowned. "No, I don't think that's it…."

He was staring too close again, and Quinn cleared her throat, saying a little harshly, "There was a card holder, but no card."

He snapped his gaze back to the blonde, remembering himself, and sighed. "Well, I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can help you guys out. They paid w—"

"Too bad. That's all right; let's go, Quinn," Rachel said hurriedly, snatching the blonde's coat sleeve and wheeling her toward the door, flowers forgotten.

"Wait!" Timothy called, and Quinn turned them around quickly. Rachel huffed irritably at the interruption, but accepted the flowers when the cashier set them in her hands, still peering at her intently. Quinn nearly growled. He was really starting to piss her off with that. "Wait a second. Weren't you in here yesterday?" he said, sounding as though he was having an epiphany.

Quinn's gaze instantly snapped to Rachel, who spluttered, but the blonde's ears had turned off and her mind had started racing. If Timothy was remembering right, if Rachel was in the shop yesterday…had she lied to Quinn? Had she found someone…else to spend Valentine's Day with, but didn't want to hurt Quinn's feelings and so she simply feigned being sick? Her stomach roiled at the thought and she struggled to compose herself, to keep from blurting out a million questions and accusations borne out of hurt and confusion and jealousy, and as she did so, her gaze fell on the bouquet clutched protectively in Rachel's hands.

Or…what if Rachel got her the flowers? Quinn knew it was a crazy thought. She wouldn't have dropped them off and then let the blonde go on some wild goose chase for who got them for her. She would own up to it, give her gifts to Quinn proudly and openly, like the card. Right?

Timothy abruptly startled her from her reverie with a triumphant exclamation. "Yeah! You were that girl that came in and—"

"With my father!" Rachel suddenly yelped, sending both the cashier and the blonde jumping. "Yes, I…had hoped not to have to bring this unpleasantness up, but I recall you clearly, of course. I entered the store with my father yesterday evening to select a bouquet for my other father and you, _Timothy_, made it plain with your attitude that you were feeling deep disapproval of my parentage and—" The brunette was speaking so quickly at this point that neither Quinn nor Timothy were keeping up, and therefore found no place to interject. "—we vowed never to enter into such a horribly homophobic, prejudiced, rancid environment as this store has evidently developed again. In fact, I am ashamed of myself for having stayed this long and so I must bid you good day—and hopefully a future education in tolerance!"

With that, the little diva turned on her heel and stormed out of the store, leaving Quinn shell-shocked and Timothy ashamed. They only stood in silence for a few moments, each processing the speech that had just been spat at them, and Quinn suddenly felt horribly guilty. It made sense now, of course, why Rachel had been so quiet on the drive over and why she'd been acting so strangely while they were talking to the boy in front of her. She'd wanted to avoid another confrontation with this bigot, but still she came, just for Quinn.

The blonde ran a restless hand through her hair, snorting superiorly at the properly chastised jackass, and rushed from the store after her best friend, who hadn't gone far. The brunette had leaned her forehead against the wall of the store, eyes closed and looking as though she was internally berating herself for that little eruption. Quinn hurried to her side, wrapping a comforting arm around her waist while her chin rested gently on her shoulder. Rachel stiffened only a moment before she appeared to realize who was cuddling her, and then the barest hint of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

Quinn practically felt like purring; the feeling being this close to Rachel always gave her: pure contentment, warmth, giddiness. She smiled back, running her free hand up and down the brunette's arm while her other hand squeezed her side.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly, nuzzling a little closer.

Rachel rose up instantly, forcing her to reluctantly abandon her shoulder, and she frowned concernedly at the blonde, "For what? You have nothing to be sorry for."

Quinn shrugged uncomfortably. "For making you come here. I didn't know, you know, what happened and—"

"And you couldn't have," she countered gently, turning completely in her arms and breaking all contact, much to Quinn's disappointment. The bouquet was still tugged tight to her chest. "Please, don't worry yourself over it. If I hadn't wanted to come, I could have—and would have—said so." She sighed, almost self-deprecatingly.

Quinn smiled fondly down at her, resisting the temptation that was her lips, and said gently, "You are the best friend I have ever had, you know that, right?"

Rachel smiled, sending butterflies through the blonde's stomach when she reached forward and took her hand before replying, "Likewise."

Quinn was so gleeful she couldn't even bring herself to pout when she dropped Rachel off at her house later.

XXXXXX

_Santana Lopez's __Journal_

_February 15, 2012_

_9:47 p.m._

_Operation Woo Quinn Fabray on Valentine's Day progress report: that would be __**NONE**__!_

_I thought Berry, future Broadway dynamo or whatever, would have a little more guts than this. But no, Valentine's Day has come and gone, and all she's done is open a couple doors and sneak a few gifts into Q's house. Real freaking gutsy._

_Q has managed to rope her into helping her find out who gave her the gifts, which is fucking counterproductive and stupid on Berry's part, if you ask me. All I can say on that front is: __Whipped__. All Q has to do is bat her eyelashes and bam. Berry's drool is waxing the floor._

_That's half the problem, IMHO. Berry doesn't think when it comes to Q. She looks at that girl, and all she sees are stars and rainbows, clouding up her head. If she would just grow a pair and a brain, and fucking __listen when I talk__, she would be the one with a passed out girlfriend in her bed after making her scream her name for two hours (__Britt is so goddamn adorable when she sleeps__). But no._

_I never thought I'd say this, but I preferred the days when Berry was mooning over Frankenteen. Honestly, she was a lot more ballsy back then. She dressed up in a __catsuit__ to try and seduce him. Now she only gets in catsuits when Q makes her, and then it's not like she even runs with the augmented sexy that skintight outfit gives her. Instead she just starts blushing and getting all awkward and shit, and I don't care if __Q__ thinks it's "cute" like Berry says, it's not the same as "so fucking hot I'm going to take you on this dining room table in the middle of Puck's Halloween party."_

_And that's exactly what Berry's missing. I told her before she even started all this planning shit that Q needs to see her sex appeal. I know it doesn't seem like it's there, hiding underneath all those shitty animal clothes and godawful argyle and the tights (dear God, the tights—is she kidding me with that?), but I've seen it, all right? When we did "Toxic" last year, the girl literally smacked me on the ass she was getting so into it—and it wasn't some light, friendly tap. Sure, she apologized later and looked like her head was going to explode from embarrassment, but fuck. There's an animal in there and it needs to fucking come out if she expects Q to see her as anything but a fluffy teddy bear she can go to for cuddles._

_Unfortunately, Berry didn't get the memo the first time I told her all this, and I don't feel like repeating myself to the little midget until it gets through that rainbow-star cloud of hers. What we need to do is force it out of her._

_I'm not seeing it happening in the middle of Algebra 1, of course, but when Berry does a performance, she does it all the fucking way, which means all I've got to do is get her performing a sexy-ass song where she has __no choice__ but to play it up and get that animal on out there—and get Q burning up so bad she can hardly fucking stand it. We need to get some Fabray drool on that choir room floor, and if there's one thing Holly Holiday taught me, it's that blatantly sexual songs and leather jackets work wonders on unpressing repressed lesbo lemons._

_Shit, minor problem. Getting Berry into a leather jacket—screw the jacket, into an __outfit__ that's going to work that girl's curves and those God-gifted legs she never takes the opportunity to rock—and getting her to sing a hot song. Granted, she sang "Afternoon Delight" for the celibacy club without realizing it's clearly about daytime fucking, but maybe that was just Pillsbury showing her crazy and Berry not protesting._

_Guess we'll have to take the forcing tactic again—now it's just a matter of convincing her to go ahead with the song she was originally going to sing for Q, and then a little stealth. Shouldn't be a problem. Outfit, outfit, outfit…._

_The chances of Berry miraculously picking something smoking herself is none. I'm going to have to get her into it—all my clothes are hot, I'll just tell her to dry clean before she gives them back. There's only one way to create a need for someone to change their entire outfit, but we've got a risk factor here—Q will flip a shit on whoever does it._

_That new head cheerleader made a snide remark at Britt the other day. She'll do._

_Rachel Berry, be proud. We have got ourselves a plan._

_Damn, my mad matchmaking skills are __so__ gonna get me a __major__ score with Britts._


	4. Part 4

**A/N:** Why do I even put these in anymore? I should just make a default one I copy and paste: "I'm sorry this update took so long. Please don't hurt me."

I have a LiveJournal now; the link is on my profile page.

Also, Santana gets a little…Santana in this one, which I gave you hints of last part, so don't hate her too much. It makes sense in her head. ;)

Also, never mind, there's going to be five parts.

**Part 4**

If there was one thing Santana actually liked about William McKinley High School, it was the set up. Any time she had errands to run, her stops were all placed conveniently in a row; she had never once had to go out of her way for anything in all of her (long) four years at the hellhole. It was almost like it had been…rehearsed or something.

She shook off her irrelevant thoughts as she paused at Brittany's locker for her morning kiss (the ones in bed, the shower, at the kitchen table, on the counter, on the couch, at the door, and in the car didn't count), lightly squeezing her girl's hip and informing her she would meet up with her in class. Brittany grinned delightedly before skipping off, leaving Santana with a pleasant view of her backside. _Damn_.

If there was one thing Santana hated about William McKinley High School (and there was; the number of things she hated about it was actually countless—really, she'd tried to make a list once, but she was talking too fast for Britt to keep up on writing it all down), it was the restrictions on PDA. She so would've been jumping her girl if she hadn't been absolutely positive that just when she got her hand where she wanted it, Coach Sylvester would round the corner. It was like she had radar or some shit. _Satan spawn_.

The next headshake was one of distaste as she turned her attention to the pack of Cheerios down the hallway. They weren't that hard to spot, of course—the blinding red kind of made it obvious. Santana had never thought about it when she was actually on the Cheerios and used the stupid uniform for protection, but objectively speaking, the pansies just looked like great big Target ads to her now.

Still, it was time to get her negotiation on with the head sheep, so she strolled on over to the herd with a roll to her hips and a smirk on her lips, ready to address the little bigot snickering at something one of her lackeys had said as she grabbed her books out of her locker. Except there was one problem. What the hell was this chick's name again?

Santana shrugged it off. "Hey, Bitch, we need to have a little girl chat."

When the group instantly went silent, her smirk grew with her ego. Yep, she still had it. Even when she wasn't _on_ the squad she could scare the little shits into submission. Bitch was eyeing her with sudden distaste, raising her chin defiantly as she examined Santana with an ineffectively hard gaze. Please, this girl was so green. She could beat her ass blindfolded.

"You know, you may be off the Cheerios now, _Lespez_, but I would show a little more respect for Coach Sylvester's handpicked head cheerleader if I were you," she barked haughtily, eliciting a few giggles from the girls surrounding her.

_Okay. What is it Berry says? Count to ten before you explode? Or wait, is the counting supposed to calm you down? I can't remember…ugh, whatever. Just focus. And not on how hard you're hitting her. Focus on the plan._ Santana shifted closer, shoving a couple of girls aside with one shoulder. They gasped, but said nothing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that was your name," she purred. _There. I still got a barb in without breaking her teeth. Win-win._ "Mistaken identities aside, I have a little favor to ask."

The girl scoffed, turning to face her full on as she eyed her up and down. "Look, no offense, I'm sure you're a stud in the dyke world, but I really prefer driving stick."

_Gah. So…many…insults…. This is fucking painful._

"And I really prefer girls with breasts, so let's just cut to the icy chase, shall we? Great," she said firmly, baring teeth in a snotty grin. "I need you to slushie Rachel Berry."

The looks of shock on the sheep's faces nearly had Santana releasing a wince of guilt, but she managed to keep it in check. If she could have avoided it, she would have, for sure, because as weirded out about Q's friendship with her as she had been at first, she actually grew to like the little munchkin. She was like a little sis, which meant it was Santana's job to look out for her and her best interests. And since, in the long run, this would be better for her (and there was no other possible way to get Berry into a hot outfit on short notice otherwise), she was going for it. Q would make it up to Berry for Santana later after she learned about lesbian sex anyway.

Bitch was frowning suspiciously. "I thought she was part of your Rainbow Brigade or whatever."

"Please. You think I actually put up with someone _that_ annoying on a daily basis by choice?" Santana scoffed. "Look, Q got into some weird redemption shit last year and started bringing her around and it was all cool until Britts decided she liked her, too. Now I've been putting up with her crazy shit for almost a year and I deserve a treat. 'Sides, she called me a drug addict the other day." She shrugged easily for effect.

An eyebrow went up, and Santana noted it wasn't nearly as impressive as it was on Q. "Then why not just do it yourself?"

She huffed in genuine annoyance and glowered at the thickheaded girl. "_Because_, pollino, little Red Riding Hood will trot on over to Goldilocks and whine about the big, bad Latina who slushied her and then _I_ will be on the outs with Britts, comprende?"

A sadistic smirk crossed over the head cheerleader's face as she leaned back against her locker door, and Santana internally readied herself for battle. God, she'd missed being a plotting bitch.

"So you want me to do your dirty work for you. I hope you know it's going to cost you, especially if you want me personally to do it."

She scoffed. "Like you wouldn't leap at the chance."

"Not with the bodyguard hovering around her," she retorted, an actual waver entering her voice, and Santana smirked. The girl scowled at a sudden realization. "I'm not getting myself beat to a pulp just so you can get some stupid revenge on Fabray's pet, even if it is Rachel Berry."

_So very green_. Santana rolled her eyes irritably. The little bitch was playing all her cards at once. She knew Santana would eventually get what she wanted, one way or another, and yet she was using a bargaining chip to raise the price before they'd even started haggling. For fuck's sake, what happened to the artistry of being a Class A Bitch?

"Look, I'll make it worth your while."

"We have a game on Friday! I can't be black and blue for that," the girl whined, and Santana flinched at the volume.

"Fine. Do it after lunch; Q, Berry, and I will be walking together. I'll get Q to take care of her 'pet'," she spat, "and tell her I'm taking care of you. Which, I will be, just not exactly how she'd like." She smirked.

Bitch bit her lower lip in contemplation, glancing at her blank-faced sheep while she internally weighed her options. Santana folded her arms impatiently in turn, hoping the intimidating stance would speed the process a little bit while she glanced at the clock on the wall in the corner of her eye. She still had one more stop to make this morning; she could only hope Berry was still loitering around her locker and hadn't bolted off to class in another sad attempt to avoid Q. She hoped to God she was over that phase in general.

"I want a hundred bucks," the girl suddenly blurted.

Santana arched an eyebrow, but a smirk belied her pleasure with the answer. "How about I don't beat the everliving _shit_ out of you and we'll call it even?"

She paled, but Santana finally found something to respect about the girl when she continued bravely, "Fine, seventy-five."

"You'll get thirty. Pays for the slushie and a large tub of Sue Sylvester's Master Cleanse; you look like you could use a little more."

Her eyes narrowed. "Fifty."

"I said thirty."

"Forty, that's as low as I'm going," she growled insistently, and Santana grinned.

"Forty it is." She stuck out her hand for a firm but brief shake, exchanging a smirk with the girl. "You'll get paid after."

With that, she turned on her heel and marched off toward Berry's locker, a devilish grin on her face. Oh, she most certainly would be getting paid. Damn, she was going to have to start thanking Q for all the stuff she was unintentionally doing for her lately. Maybe a new pen or something; Q liked drawing and shit.

She shook her head of thoughts of how she would repay her friend, stashing them away for later when she saw the two little lovebirds standing close together at Berry's locker—and automatically rolled her eyes. How they didn't realize how freaking gay they were for each other was beyond Santana, what with Berry's blush and Q's wandering fingers that were currently tangling themselves oh-so innocently with her 'best friend's.' It made her want to puke.

So rather than wasting precious time in which she could end up losing the breakfast Britt made specially for her, Santana abruptly snatched Berry's elbow on her way by, announcing, "Time for a chat, Berry."

The midget promptly yelped, but what surprised Santana most was that she actually _resisted_ her pull—and managed it. Jesus, who knew the little freak was so damn strong? She eyed her critically, not betraying her inner musings to the other girls.

"Come on, snap to. I don't have all day," she barked, and Berry put on that defiant scowl of hers—it was really, incredibly adorable. Though she'd rather shoot someone than admit that out loud. Still, she couldn't help a mild smirk.

"Santana, has it ever occurred to you that you are not the only person on this planet whose time is valuable? If you hadn't noticed, I was in the midst of a discussion with Quinn," she babbled, frowning furiously.

"Unless you were solving world hunger, I doubt it was really that important," Santana retorted easily. "And even then, I don't really give a shit. We're talking. Now."

Q's eyebrow was practically disappearing in her hair at this point as she glared down her Latina friend. "Considering the last time I let you talk—"

"Excuse me? _Let_ me?" Santana scoffed.

"—to Rachel in private," Q snapped, raising her voice over hers while an arm curled protectively around Berry's (_so, so gay_), "you smacked her—"

"Only upside the head, and she deserved it."

Berry gasped indignantly.

"—I don't think you're having your oh-so-urgent chat, unless you can have it in front of me," Q finished, setting her jaw in challenge.

How annoying. God, even more annoying. Berry was wearing her big doe-eyed, twitter-pated face now. Santana heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. Clearly, she wasn't getting the midget alone, and she didn't have time for this shit.

"Fine. I was thinking you should sing the song you were going to perform for Valentine's Day in glee today," she said simply, smirking when Berry instantly turned an interesting shade between red and purple, and Q glanced down at her with a wounded expression.

"You were going to sing a song for someone?" she asked softly, and Berry cleared her throat.

"Not-not for someone in specific, just—"

"For someone," Santana cut in with a grin, loving the way Berry squirmed under Q's scrutiny. This way was so much more fun. Damn, another favor owed to Quinn. "But that's not important. What's important is that you worked really hard on it and it would be a total waste if you didn't sing it just because Uncle Sam made everyone wicked uncomfortable the other day."

Berry eyed her, biting her lip uncomfortably. "Santana, as much as I appreciate the thought, it's not Valentine's Day anymore and—"

"So? It's not like the lyrics have anything to do with the holiday, and you're perfectly peachy with singing every sappy-ass love song in the book every other day of the week, so what's the big deal? Besides, since when do you turn down the opportunity to wow everyone with a solo?"

She smirked happily when all Berry did was fidget, unable to come up with an argument for that. Ha. Santana: 1, Rachel: …more than she cared to admit to at the moment. Quinn was still busy looking hurt because Berry didn't tell her about her wittle wove song, but Santana noted with satisfaction that she'd tightened her grip around the midget's arm, almost possessively so.

"And don't you remember what we talked about yesterday?" she hinted, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

"With how hard you hit her, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't," Q hissed, but Berry rubbed her bicep with a casual swipe of her thumb and she was instantly soothed. _Whipped, the both of them._

"I…I guess you have a point, Santana. Okay." She smiled widely. "I'll sing it."

"Excellent," Santana purred, grinning at the pout Q was currently struggling with. "Now I'm gonna find Britts. I needs to get my mack on one more time before this hellacious school day starts. See ya, my lesbros."

With that, she turned and strutted off to the class she shared with Brittany, unable to wipe the shit-eating grin off her face for the rest of the period because of those wide-eyed, jaw-dropped faces. Those two were too damn easy.

XXXXXX

Thanks to Santana, Rachel spent almost the entirety of her school day outside of class convincing Quinn that (a) when Santana said 'for someone', she meant a general someone, (b) that she did not have a crush on anyone, (c) that she certainly would have told her best friend if she did, and (d) that the only reason she had told Santana and not Quinn about her song was because she _always_ ended up helping her rehearse and Rachel didn't want to impose on her any longer. The last of which Quinn rolled her eyes repeatedly at.

It wasn't that Quinn was persistently asking her about any of these things, of course. No, she was just wearing…that look. You know, the one that plainly says, 'you have some explaining to do and you know it, I'm just waiting.' The first time Quinn had pulled it on Rachel had also been the first time the diva felt sympathy toward males who were being given the silent treatment by their significant others for reasons entirely unknown to them. She discovered quickly that she was just as affected by it (where Quinn was concerned, anyway) as those poor men were, and so it was that she spent every spare second between classes when she happened to be in Quinn's company elucidating on those four points repeatedly.

The look admittedly might have gone away faster had Rachel actually been telling the truth about…well, any of them. The third might have been true if the crush had been on anyone but her actual best friend, but as things were, Rachel was left to stammer and stumble and stutter her way through her lengthy, almost entirely false explanations she'd thought up on the spot. It was all completely unfair, in her opinion, because she was a horrible liar to begin with (excellent actress that she was, this was a little confusing to her), but then she was trying to lie to _Quinn_.

Not only did the girl practically have a radar for these types of things (she was frighteningly perceptive; sometimes Rachel wondered how she hadn't picked up on her massive crush on her a long time ago), but with those hard, penetrating eyes and chilling silences and the fact that it was, well, _her_…. Suffice it to say Rachel was beyond relieved when her endless diatribes on the matter eventually sated Quinn's questioning and they were back to giggling and talking like nothing happened by lunch.

The best part of all this? Quinn hadn't brought up searching for her mysterious gift-giver since the day before, after their moment outside the flower shop. It was as though the subject had been erased from her mind since the moment she snuggled into Rachel's side.

Now, if only she could be certain Santana wouldn't bring it up at the most inopportune moment possible.

The Latina had been suspiciously tame all day, aside from the 'lesbro' comment, which frankly made very little sense, considering they were more 'lesis' than anything. Or…something like that. In any case, it didn't apply to Quinn, at least. Anyway, other than that lapse in behavior, Santana had been sweet as…well, as sweet as Santana ever got. Most of her attention seemed to be trained on Brittany, which, while not unusual, was quite a relief considering Santana's intense focus on the two of them since Valentine's Day.

Of course, this only heightened Rachel's suspicions that she was plotting to scare Quinn away with something bigger, better, and even more embarrassing than the small comments here and there. Not that Santana's intent was to frighten Quinn—Rachel knew her motives were surprisingly pure in this instance—but that didn't alter the result any. Rachel supposed the 'road to hell' anecdote applied here.

Which was why she was keeping a curious eye trained back at Santana as she strode behind Quinn and her on their way to their next class: the only one all three happened to share together. Brittany's next class was unfortunately situated across the building, while theirs was almost directly next to the cafeteria, leaving them with about five minutes to loiter in the halls together—sometimes spent with Rachel attempting to calm down a raging bitch fest between the other two, usually only with success on one side.

Today, however, Santana was being silent as a mouse while Quinn and Rachel played at one of the many games they'd invented over the course of their friendship—shooting names of incredibly silly songs that everyone somehow knew the lyrics to back and forth.

"Uh…the Pokemon theme," Quinn blurted, smiling delightedly at her choice.

"The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," Rachel rejoined.

She giggled. "Peanut Butter Jelly Time."

"Ah, yes, a song with two whole lines with actual variation in them. I don't quite think that counts, Quinn," she teased, bumping playfully into her shoulder.

"Hey! It has _at least_ ten different lines, and I didn't know we were putting restrictions on what counts as a silly song now." She bumped back, and Rachel smiled deviously.

"Oh, I was referring to its status as a song in general," she said innocently, cracking a grin when Quinn belted a laugh.

"Okay, fine, how a—"

Rachel wasn't sure if Quinn had simply stopped talking or if she had failed to hear the rest upon receiving the shock of a sadly familiar frigid blast to the face. When she had stopped blinking away the sting in her eyes as it gave way to unbidden tears instead, the only thing she heard was the distant cackle of the Cheerios who had passed by them with the cup, and she didn't think twice about it when instinct kicked in and she raced for the nearest bathroom, turning on the faucet immediately and reaching to splash her face repeatedly. The 'lucky' thing about this process was that the slushie was already so icy cold that you never had to wait for the water to warm up to start cleaning it off.

Once her face was mostly clean and her eyes weren't blurring with tears that originated from the sting of the corn syrup, she pulled her quickly matting hair from her neck and scraped it into a bundle before ducking her head beneath the faucet and blindly rubbing the water into her scalp. The angle was beyond uncomfortable, and it strained parts of her that hadn't been bent and stretched and twisted this way in almost a year and a half.

Rachel almost sobbed with the realization, but she dug her teeth hard into her lip to quell the impulse. She had to clean up first; she could cry later. She could wonder when her association with Quinn had started to fail her later. She could worry that Quinn was going to get the same treatment—later.

She sucked in a sharp breath, jumping when she felt gentle hands on her own, easing them down to brace the sink instead of clutching at her hair, and a soft voice soothed, "Here, let me."

She felt herself relax almost instantly, though she was distantly aware that the voice didn't belong to the person she'd been hoping would follow her, and the hands stroking through her hair weren't familiar in their touch. When they had finally finished combing through her wealth of hair, getting out the last ice chunks, the hands receded and the voice said, "Done."

Rachel mumbled a thank you as she eased herself into a standing position, her back cracking uncomfortably, but her attention was caught by something else. The sight of something she hadn't seen in almost a year and a half—her ruined, stained clothing. And that was it: she started sobbing right there, bringing up a hand to muffle it even as someone else's hand hesitantly clamped on her shoulder. She glanced over at the person, her suspicions confirmed when she saw the solemn face of one Santana Lopez. She tried not to be disappointed that it wasn't who she wanted it to be.

"My shirt is ruined," she wailed helplessly, and then squirmed when she felt the way her undergarments were sticking to her skin. "Everything is. It's been so long—I don't even have any clothes to—"

"Hey, hey. Chill, all right? I went to grab you some from my locker," Santana cut in, voice quieter than usual. She bent to grab a stack of black clothing sitting on the floor and held it out for the gob smacked diva. "That's what took me so long," she added a little sheepishly, and shrugged, thrusting the clothes closer to her.

Before she could stop herself, Rachel had done one of the most dangerous things a human being could do. She launched herself into Santana's arms, trapping her in a tight embrace as she sobbed helplessly into the girl's shoulder in a mixture of gratitude, sorrow, and comfort-seeking. But to her surprise, she wasn't shoved off. Santana only uttered a soft 'whoa' upon impact, and then her free hand was awkwardly patting at Rachel's upper back while the clothes rested, motionless, a little lower. Rachel couldn't help but smile a little at the tough Latina's efforts.

She quieted gradually, the ache becoming less, her shoulders calming their movements, but she didn't relent her hold on Santana's waist, too greedy to let go of this moment of peaceful companionship between them.

A few more moments passed before she felt more than heard Santana mumble, "Sorry, Midget" against her wet hair, and Rachel's smile grew, because the girl only used 'midget' now when she was feeling particularly affectionate with her.

She pulled back slowly, smiling lightly up at the frowning Latina. "It's not your fault."

She studiously avoided her gaze for a moment, grumbling, "Yeah, well. You're just lucky Britts and I were going out right after glee tonight."

Rachel smiled fondly and shook her head, recognizing Santana's way of ending the uncomfortably tender moment; she made a point of backing out of their embrace enough to take the clothes and shot her another grateful smile before she went to change. Except she didn't get far, because the door burst open almost the moment she started to turn, and a fiercely flushed, panting, dark-eyed Quinn Fabray made her hasty entrance and bypassed Santana without a glance.

Rachel felt her shoulders being clutched and her hair being gently stroked out of her face before she clearly registered Quinn's movements visually, but her muscles nonetheless released every bit of tension they'd gained from the blonde's surprising entry at the soothing touch. A small, reassuring smile made its way onto her lips as she took in the frenzied look on Quinn's face, her expression riddled with worry as her hazel eyes flicked up and down, taking in every bit of her to make sure there wasn't even one tiny mark.

It was incredibly endearing, particularly considering that slushies weren't exactly made of knives or anything. The only thing wounded was her dignity, really. Well, and her shirt.

"Are you okay? Did you get it out of your hair all right? I swear to God, I could kill that little bitch," Quinn growled, her voice going almost comically lighter when she continued, "But you're okay, right? You need to borrow a sweater, or maybe—"

"Quinn, Quinn!" Rachel said loudly, trying not to laugh. She bit her lip to contain a grin when Quinn instantly focused on her and went quiet when Rachel leaned in closer, locking their gazes as she said firmly, "I'm _fine_. Santana helped me clean up and she's lent me these clothes—" she lifted them up, watching Quinn's gaze flicker down to them as her rigid body gradually began to relax "—and I'm fine. I'm just going to change and we can head to class, okay?"

It took a moment for the pink girl to murmur a soft, "Okay," but when Rachel heard it, her smile split into a grin and she reached to squeeze one of the hands on her shoulder, only to release her hold quickly when Quinn hissed and shook it. Her brow knit with instant concern and she grasped at the blonde's arm to hold it still.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm good," she muttered, trying to pull away.

"No, let me see." She couldn't help but hiss herself when she saw how swollen Quinn's knuckles were, and she gaped at the other girl, reaching with her free hand to stroke through her hair. "What happened?"

Quinn's eyes fluttered for a moment, leaning into her touch as her pink cheeks flushed crimson. "I…I may have…punched the girl who threw the slushie and dragged her by her ponytail to Coach Sylvester's office."

A harsh, full-belly laugh broke the stillness of the bathroom, and both girls jumped when they were reminded of their Latina friend's presence. Quinn's flush deepened and she gave a half-hearted attempt at a glare at Santana, who was, of course, paying little attention. Rachel, in the meantime, was trying her best not to grin, biting her lip hard in the process, because…well, Quinn had played her white knight, and the notion spread warmth all through her chest and over her cheeks.

However, she did not condone violence for any reason, and Quinn should know better.

The blonde looked like she knew exactly what Rachel was about to say, her expression filled with apprehension even before the brunette gathered the breath to say sternly, "Quinn—"

"Oh, my God, that is priceless," Santana interjected, a hand on her stomach as she attempted to control her breathing.

Rachel couldn't help but share a brief grin with Quinn at their friend's behavior, and the ex-cheerleader hastily took advantage.

"Look, I know you don't like solving problems with physical violence, but she deserved it," she explained hurriedly, grasping at the hand Rachel wasn't using to cradle Quinn's own injured appendage. "Besides, I gave her a chance. I told her to apologize, but she just laughed, so I…made her see the error of her ways." She nodded proudly.

"You hit her," Rachel corrected flatly, just as Santana said, "Good on you."

The little brunette peered past the blonde's shoulder in order to glare at the Latina properly. Santana grinned cheekily, but retreated to the paper towel dispenser to give them a moment nonetheless. Rachel shook her head ruefully and trained her frown up at Quinn instead. Her reaction was much more pleasing—she smiled weakly and ran her thumb up and down the back of Rachel's hand, trying to placate her. It was working, but Rachel chose not to let her know this for the moment.

"You hit the poor girl, who likely hasn't learned any lesson whatsoever, only grown a palatable thirst for revenge against you, not only for physically injuring her, but for causing her pain and punishment at the hands of Coach Sylvester. And now that she fears you—" A grin teased at Quinn's lips, though she tried to wrestle it down, and Rachel narrowed her eyes. "That's _not_ something to be proud of, by the way. Now that she fears you, she will probably only become sneakier in her tactics to harm you, in order to avoid a physical confrontation in the future."

She shrugged easily. "I don't care. As long as she leaves you alone, I—"

"I don't want to see you getting hurt, either," she cut in sharply, locking eyes with her intently.

After a moment, the blonde grumbled quietly and rubbed the back of her hand again, finally acquiescing with, "Fine. Violence isn't the answer."

The brunette smiled, pleased. "Thank you."

Santana coughed something that sounded suspiciously like 'whipped', but Quinn only shot her a brief glare before meeting Rachel's gaze again and muttering petulantly, "She's still a bitch."

A chuckle bubbled up from the diva's throat before she could stop it, and Quinn's eyes glittered at the sound.

"I won't argue that with you," she said softly, then lifted Quinn's injured hand slightly. "Now _you_ need to get to the nurse's office."

"No, I'm fine." The hard, stern stare she received had the blonde adding insistently, "Really. I'm sure the swelling will go down with—"

"With ice and proper care," she retorted firmly. "I have to change, because my clothes are starting to stick to my skin and it's a less than pleasant sensation, but I will meet you both in class. And Santana, would you please make sure that Quinn goes to the nurse's office and actually _sees_ the nurse?"

Santana typically wasn't amenable to taking orders from anyone, let alone Rachel, but she hoped in that moment that the opportunity to not only skip more of class than they already had, but to annoy an already disgruntled Quinn would be too golden for her to pass up. She wasn't disappointed. The Latina grinned and saluted her, placing one hand firmly on the door handle to make sure Quinn couldn't make a run for it.

"Aye, aye, Midget," she said with a grin.

Quinn growled low in her throat, but nodded reluctantly, wrapping Rachel in a brief, warm embrace. A blush spread up from the brunette's toes when she felt a kiss planted gently on the side of her head, and it refused to go away, even when Quinn backed out of the hug and smiled lightly before she turned to join Santana at the door.

She really was going to be the death of Rachel one of these days, she swore. One of these times, it really would turn into a heart attack, and then Quinn would be sorry for being so incredibly adorable and perfect and lovable.

Rachel shook it off and hurried into a stall to change, catching only the beginning of what she was sure would be a fascinating conversation with her superb hearing.

"Hey, Q. You like drawing and shit, right?"

XXXXXX

This may have been the best day ever. Not one of Santana's carefully thought-out plots had gone wrong, including the mid-afternoon hook-up with Britts in the janitor's closet. Thanks to Q, Sylvester was too busy berating her 'hand-picked head cheerleader' for her depraved behavior to catch wind of any pheromones or whatever.

From what the rumor mill was saying, Bitch had not only been demoted, but she'd been suspended for three days and couldn't participate in the cheering on Friday. It was lucky the track-suited devil still had a modicum of respect for Q. Well, and that she now knew firsthand what it felt like to receive a slushie and no longer appreciated the cruelty of it. Which Santana had _nothing_ to do with. She was at Brittany's house getting her mack on. Anyone who says otherwise is a lying douchebag who obviously needs a taste of her mad skill with razor blades.

Anyway, her own little slushie plan went off without a hitch—other than the whole crippling guilt thing; damn her conscience. Bitch had followed through and, as expected, Q looked like she was going to explode with rage the instant it happened. It only took a nudge from Santana to go take care of business and an assurance that she would watch out for Berry until she could get there for the good old Head Bitch in Charge to come out and march down the hall in a bloodthirsty rampage. The trip to the nurse's office was a blast, too, if only because she got to work Q up until she was red as a beet and fuming like a steam engine. It. Was. Hysterical.

But the absolute _best_ part had to have been the very moment Berry walked in late to class in skintight jeans, a flattering tank top with plenty of cleavage, and the leather bomber jacket Santana had snuck in there—all in black. It would have been better, of course, if Berry had been working the boost of hotness the outfit gave her instead of holding the jacket around her like it was a lifesaver or something, but, well, Santana was pretty sure _nothing_ could beat the expression on Q's face on seeing it. She actually literally dropped her ice pack.

Santana had never almost cried from holding in laughter before that.

It was just a bonus that Berry was _clearly_ uncomfortable, but remained far too polite and grateful to say anything about it, only giving Santana a sheepish apology and sinking into her seat, folding her arms tight across her chest, completely oblivious to the fact that Quinn was choking on air. It even took Q ten minutes to recover enough to start hissing angrily at Santana, asking what she was thinking giving Rachel clothes 'like _that_.' All it took was a smirk and the comment, "If you want to take them off, I'm sure she won't mind." And Q was back to sputtering.

And now for what would hopefully be the most epic part of her plan, the one that would take the most sneaking, the one that would make Q the most uncomfortable, and the one that would—she seriously prayed to God—make the two of them wake the fuck up!

And if it didn't succeed in all this, well, a little Adam Lambert never hurt anybody.


End file.
